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DAVID KENNEDY 

THE SCOTTISH SINGER 




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l!l MAKJORV i-,;.NN!:r.iN 

SINCiING ROUND TUK \Vr;;i i> 

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J;y DAVIIJ KKNiSKDV, .:■ v 

Wnil PORTRAET AN;.i U.i.L'STF-/^ Ti i.)N. 



AUCXANDRR GAVIDNFR 
PAISLEY: and ii PATK KNUSTf-.K ROW. LONDON 



PREFACE. 



These Reminiscences of David Kennedy, the Scottish singer, 
have been written to meet the wishes of many friends, pubUc 
as well as private. Of public friends he had very many, for 
during the last ten years of his life he was so much at home 
with his audiences that to have heard him frequently was to 
know him as a friend. 

With this sketch of his Life a few of his letters have been 
given, and an attempt made (from memory and from a few 
shorthand notes by our brother David) to set down some of 
his platform remarks and stories of Scottish Life. Two of his 
longer " Humorous Stories " — the first entirely original, the 
second nearly so — are given as an appendix. 

The narrative of our Travels which follows is a revision 
and condensation of three books already published, entitled, 
" Kennedy's Colonial Travel," " Kennedy in India," and 
"Kennedy at the Cape," prepared for republication by our 
brother David shortly before his death. With the exception 
of a little necessary cutting, it appears here as he left it 

M. K. 

5 MajSM Road, Edinbntgh, 
July, 1887. 



REMINISCENCES OF LIFE AND WORK. 



CHAPTER I., 

Parentage — Perth Weavers—" Hoc oor John sochl me for his wife " — 
School days — "Young Lochinvar" — Apprenticeship — Templeton 
—His Father's Glee C\ah—D/iut as a Solo Singer-" Wae's me 
for .Prince Charlie " — Precentorship — London — Marriage — Vocal 
Tuition. 

CHAPTER U., ... 

Beginning of Professional Career — Edinburgh — Teaching — Study of 
" Auld Scots Sangs " — Singing at Burns Centenary in Liverpool — 
His Love of Bqrns — Concerts in Edinburgh- Scoltish Tours- 
First Appearance in London — Success — Removal lo London — 
First American Tour, '66 — Travelling Experiences — California — 
The Mormons— Retora to Scotland in '69— Scoti Centenary. 

CHAPTER III., 

Tour Round the World—Starts for Australia in '72— Letters from 
Australia, New Zealand, and Canada- His Father's Death— Cali- 
fornia — Canada — Return to Scotland in 1876 — Letter about 
Royalty Songs — Additional Verses to Old. Songs — His Opinion of 
the Seollish Songs— Self Criticism- London Season, '77— South 
African Tour, '79— Indian Tour, Winter '79-'8o — Letters from 
India— Italy— Letter from Lake Como— Conceit in Milan— Loss 
of Son and two Daughters in Nice — Third American Tour, '81-:- 
Farewell Australian Tour, '83-'84— Return to Scotland— Death of 
eldest Son, David — Last Appearance in London, '86^Farewell 
American Tour— Illness and Death— His Sympathetic Nature- 
Musical Enthusiasm — Favourite Authors — Patriotism — "Scots 
Wha Hae"— Politics— What he vras to the Scots Abroad— His 
Readings of Scots Sangs— "The Weary Pun'"— "The Wee, Wee 
German Lairdie " — His Place Among Scottish Singers. 



APPENDIX— 

" Saunders M'Clashan's Courtship," 
"The Minister's Fiddle." 



SINGING ROUND THE WORLD. 



CHAPTER I., 13 

The Voyage— Melbourne — A Chinese Theatre — Melbourne InstitntioiK 
— Aostraliao weather — The People of Melbourne — Our Concerts in 
Melbourne— Batlant — Down a Gold Mine — Geelong— Sindhnnt 
— Echuca— Purchasing Coach and Hones— A Stom in the Bush. 

CHAPTER II., ... , 30 

The "Stonj Rises" — A Squatting Station — A Drove of Kai^^aroos — 
The Bosh and Bush Roads — The Middle I>is>iogs — Coaching to 

CHAPTER ni., 45 

Sydney — The "Lamkin" — Piiiainatta — Brisbane — The Witds ot 
Qoeenslimd — Gjrmpie Gold Fields — Qoeensland Blacks — Rock- 
hampton — DaiUi^ Downs — Stantbotpe Tin Mines. 

CHAPTER IV 63 

New South Wales again — Aveisatile Beadle — Our Dog Uno — Australian 
Hotels and Bush Inns — Hot Weathei — Deserted bj oar Drive^^ 
Dpset 

CHAPTER V. 76 

A Trip throngh Tasmania — Hobart Town — Laonceston. 

CHAPTER VI., 83 

South Australia — Adelaide — A Feast of Grapes — A Plagne of Mosquitoes 
—The CotinlTjr Towns. 

CHAPTER VII. 8» 

Voyage to New Zealand— Dnnedin-The Water of Ldth— A Toar 
through Otago — A Conceit in a Bam- The Highlands of Otago. 



10 Contents. 

CHAPTER \ III*, ... ... ... ... ,,, io6 

The Lake Diitrict— The Arrow River Diggings — Oamaru — Perilous 
Fording of the Woitaki. 

CHAPTER IX*} ... ... ... ... ... 11^ 

The Canterbury Plains~Christchurch~A Waterloo Veteran — ^Welling- 
ton. 

CHAPTER X.y ••• >•• ••• ... ... ^33 

Em route for the Hot Lakes— Waikato Valley— Rangariri Battlefield— 
A Military Outpost — A Weary Horse- Ride — ^A Night in a Maori 
House. 

CHAPTER A.l»| ••• ••• ... ... 1 4^ 

The Volcanic Country — Bathing in a Hot Lake — ^A Maori Pah — The 
Great Geyser of Whaka-rewa-rewa. 

CHAPTER X.ll.| ••• ••• ••• ... ... ^5' 

ricnc's " Maison de Repos "— Rotomahana— The White Terrace— The 
Hot Springs — The Pink Terrace — ^A Dangerous Horse Ride. 

CHAPTER XIIL, ... ... ... ... 163 

Mount Tongariro — Napier — Crossing the Manawatu dorge — Wanganui 
— Leaving New Zealand. 

HTHAPTER XIV., ... ... ... ... ... 175 

Return to Melbourne — ^The Ex-Kingof Fiji— A Terrible Storm — Voyage 
to Honolulu. 

k'^HAPTER XV., ... ... ... ... ... 182 

San Francisco— The City and the People— The Trans-Continental Rail- 
way — Salt Lake City — A Mormon Sermon — Chicago^Hotel Life 
in America. 

CHAPTER XVL, ... ... ... 202 

Crossing into Canada — Toronto— Niagara — Winter Life in Ontario- 
Sleigh Journeys — Kingston — Ottawa — Montreal— Tobogganing — 
The Ice Shove — Quebec. 

CHAPTER XVIL, ... 225 

The Maritime Provinces — New Brunswick— Nova Scotia — Newfound- 
land. 



CHAPTER XVIII., ... ... ... ... 240- 

Vojage lo the Cape— Amving in Table Bay— Cape TowD— Table Monn- 
tain— Port Eiiiabeih— Grahamstown— Up-CouaUy Travelling— 

The Veldt— Tale of a Kafir War. 

CHAPTER XIX., ... ... ... ... ... 258 

Lovedale Kafir Institution — Crossing the Kat Beij — Burghersdoip — The 
Orange Rivei — A Boer Family — Bloemfontein — A Dopper Nacht- 



CHAPTER XX., ... ... ... ... ... 274 

Kimberley — The Great Mine— Rehrni Jqainey through the Free Stale 
— Fauresmith — Perils of the Road— Ctadock — Graaf Reinet. 

CHAPTER XXI., ... ... ... ... ... 2&9 

Natal — Durban — Pielermaritibuig — The Zolus — Bishop Colenso — Re- 
lics of Isandhlwana — The Native Contingent — A kindly Souvenir — 
Farewell lo South Africa. 

CHAPTER XXII., 29* 

Calcutta— The European Quarter — Native Servants — A Hindoo Festi- 
val— Street Seenes—Charches— Society— The Twilight Drive— 
Collies— Native Music — Vist to a Zenana — A Sail on the Hot^hly 
— Our Concerts. 

CHAPTER XXm., ... ... .,. ... 323 

Travelling in India— A Railway Town — A Military Station — Holy Ben- 
ares — A Search for a Piano — Temples and " Baksheesh " — Allaha- 
bad — An Up-country Station — Hindoo Devotees — Jubbulpore. 

CHAPTER XXIV., ... ... ... ... 34J 

The Residency and PaEaces of Lucknow— Cawnpoie- An enlhusiislic 
Guide — Bombay — A Parsee Bill- Poster — A Marriage Procession — 
The Caves of Elephanta. 

CHAPTER XXV.,... .'. 357 

Agia— The Fort of Akbar— The Pearl Mosque— The Taj— Humours of 
Concert -giving in India— Delhi — Lahore — A picnic at Shalimar — 
The Daily Life of out Boy— Meerul— Back to Calcutta- Farewell 



CHAPTER XXVI., 

Madras— Ceylon— The Cinehalese — Aden— Suez and Port Said — 
Maltese Monastery — Gibraltar to Southampton. 



Family Reminiscences of David Kennedy, 
the Scottish Singer. 



Chapter \.— Early Life. 

David Kennedy was bom in the city of Perth, on the 
fifteenth of April in the year 1825. His father and grand- 
father were also natives of Perth, but his great-great-grand- 
father, John Kennedy, belonged to a family or small clan of 
Kennedys in Foss, in the north of Perthshire, and was, in fact, 
gillie to the Laird of Foss, whom he accompanied to the fatal 
Held of CuUoden. The Laird was killed but his gillie escaped. 
The story goes that when he got home the lady called him 
" coward " for having come back without his master, and he 
felt her reproach so keenly that he never forgot it Others of 
the family were driven from their homes after the failure of 
the Jacobite Rebellion of 1745-46, and some found their way 
to Canada, and later to Australia, where their descendants, 
thriving colonists, claimed kinship with " The Kennedys " 
when singing round the world. One family in particular, 
settled near Ottawa (the seat of the Canadian Government), 
had so increased and multiplied on the face of the earth that 
when, as on every occasion of our professional visits to the 
city, we assembled in the farm house of the patriarch of 
the family, no fewer than forty Kennedys were present in the 
one room. The day was spent in social enjoyment, one never- 



lO Reminiscences of David Ke?uiedy, 

failing feature of these gatherings being the singing of 
HandeFs Hallelujah chorus by the united families. 

It was not from the Kennedys, however, that he inherited 
his vocal and dramatic power and his intense enthusiasm for 
Scottish Songs. His grandfather, David Kennedy, was a man 
of phlegmatic temperament, but his grandmother, Mary More, 
was a remarkable woman. Gifted with a beautiful voice, a rare 
intelligence, and a retentive memory, she was one of those 
who, from generation to generation, have preserved and handed 
down the rich traditional ballad lore of Scotland. 

The next generation of Kennedys were all more or less 
musically gifted — our father's own father David, his uncle 
Thomas, and one of his aunts being exceptionally so. His 
aunt inherited the beautiful voice and ballad repertoire of 
Mary More, and his father and uncle became leading lights in 
their own musical world. They were appointed precentors in 
two of the largest Presbyterian kirks in Perth ; his father in 
the " North Kirk " and his uncle in the " South Kirk," and by 
the single unaided voice they led congregations of over a 
thousand people. It was no easy matter, for everybody sang 
in the kirk in those days, and with characteristic Scottish 
conscientiousness, the auld folk thought themselves in duty 
bound to sing every word of the Psalms, whether they could 
keep pace with the precentor or not 

One well-known old character, an inveterate snuffef, our 
grandfather used to tell us, habitually left off in the middle of 
a verse, deliberately blew his nose with his red pocket 
"neepkin," and having carefully marked his place would re- 
commence where he left off, oblivious to the fact that the 
precentor and the rest of the congregation were two lines in 
advance of him. 

The elder Kennedys, in addition to the church work, 



Early Life. i f 

oi^anized glee clubs and gave concerts in Perth and the 
neighbourhood. They being away from home one night 
assisting at a concert, little Davie, then barely three years old, 
was left alone in the house with his mother, and we have heard 
him say that his earliest recollection was of that night, for a 
big black Aog pushed open the latched door and took pos- 
session of the room, to his infinite terror, until the arrival of his 
father and uncle. 

His father was an upright, stern disciplinarian, a purist in 
musical matters, a diligent student of harmony and Handel's 
compositions, and was called by his cronies " Auld Super- 
tonic," because of his habitual use of technical terms in 
discussing or teaching music. He was a man of independent 
mind and observed a rigid economy, so that he "owed no man 
anything." This habit of economy, to secure "the glorious 
privilege of being independent," he carefully instilled into his 
son, and one day, giving him three " bawbees " to spend at the 
fair, he said, " You are at liberty to spend it all, Davie, but the 
less you spend the more I will think of you." 

He also instructed him in the CalvinistJc doctrines of the 
Presbyterian Church and the Voluntary principles of the 
" seceders," and took great pains to train him up in an 
accurate knowledge of the Shorter Catechism. But Davie's 
first interview with "the minister," when in the course of the 
periodical " visiting " he called at his father's house, was a sore 
trial to both father and son. The worthy man asked him the 
usual questions from the Shorter Catechism, in all of which his 
father knew him to be letter perfect, but Davie was so 
paralyzed with awe that he could not recall a single answer, 
and at parting he sank, if possible, into still deeper disgrace 
by giving the minister his left hand. 

Though an only child for eleven years, he gave his mother 



1 2 Reminiscences of David Kenfudy. 

more trouble than half-a-dozen ; and many a night when the 
young wanderer came home in a sorely tattered condition, she 
mended his " breeks " before the morning, to save him from a 
father's lecture and lickin*. She was a patient, industrious, 
undemonstrative woman, fond enough and proud enough of 
her boy, but like most Scottish women of her time, little 
used to giving expression to her feelings in every-day 
life. "My dear this," and "My dear that," were seldom 
heard at Scottish firesides, and there was a current saying, 
that "where there's mickle love in the mouth there's little 
love in the heart*' On the long winter nights, when the day's 
work was done, she sat at her wheel and span by the dim 
light of an oil cruisie, and her laddie, weary of the dull mono- 
tony of the house and the want of congenial society, would say, 
**Mither, can I get oot?" No answer. "Mither, can I get 
oot?" Still no reply. "Mither, can I get oot?" "I'm easy, 
laddie " (I am content, you have my permission). That was 
enough. The blue bonnet with the red cherry in the crown was 
snatched up, and a rush made to the door-cheek. His appear- 
ance there was the signal to all the laddies of the neighbour- 
hood. " Here 's Davie Kennedy," they cried ; " noo for fun." 
He was the leader in all their sports ; and when innocent sport 
failed, they turned to mischief. 

Many an auld wife that kept a "shoppie" found in the 
morning that her gingerbread elephants and " sweetie " rabbits 
and clay pipes which she had placed on the window-frame the 
day before had fallen from their high estate, and as she picked 
up the fragments of the broken sweets and replaced the uninjured 
would mutter to herself, " Thae deils o' laddies." 

But one night they hit upon a plan that was far grander fun 
than "chappin"* on auld wives' window-panes, their chosen 
«'ictim on this occasion being an auld* weaver. 



Perth Weavers. 1 3 

Hand-loom weaving was at that time the principal means of 
livelihood in the neighbourhood of Perth, and was generally 
carried on at home, the smaller houses consisting of only two 
rooms, a " but " and a " ben," with rafters for the roof, and a 
clay floor. The "but" was the kitchen, bedroom.and parlour; 
the " ben " was the workshop where the loom stood. On their 
nightly raids the laddies flattened their noses against many a 
weaver's window-panes, and peered in at the solitary occupant 
of the room. To the young mind there was a sense of eeriness 
in listening to the quiet but unceasing click-clack, click-clack 
of the shuttle, and in watching the lonely figure, seated on the 
bench, guiding it to and fro with the patient constancy of a 
machine. 

The weaver in question was an auld doited body long past 
work, who yet went through the form of working from mere 
habit He had been a beau in his youth, and still wore the 
high silk hat and black silk stock, without which he was never 
seen, even at his loom. What his history was who can tell? 
but he was an unfailing source of interest to the boys, and the 
auld " lum " hat was an irresistible bait to the band on mischief 
bent 

One summer night, their dark plan having been laid, they 
stole, in the friendly dusk of the long twilight, into the ill-lighted 
room. Fixing the end of a long black thread to the crown of 
the old silk hat, they passed it over a crossbeam of the loom 
above the bench where the old man sat and holding the other 
end of the thread outside the door, they waited. He sat 
croonin awa' to himsel' as was his custom, taking no notice of 
what was going on around him. Gently, cautiously, they pulled 
the thread and slightly raised the hat He just settled it on 
his head again and went on with his croonin'. Again and again 
the bat was raised and ireplaced, and he never awakened to the 



14 Reminiscetices of David Kemiedy, 

fact that anything unusual was happening till it gradually as- 
cended above his head and disappeared. There was a simul- 
taneous disappearance of the boys, who made a bee-line down 
the street after their leader, for the old man was irrascible 
enough when provoked. 

For two years Davie assisted his father (who was himself a 
weaver) in filling the bobbins, but it was a monotonous, me- 
chanical occupation, which he could not endure. To relieve 
the tedium many a song was sung to the metronome-like click 
of the shuttle, and to this practice he attributed in great mea- 
sure, his father's accurate sense of time. 

The weavers as a class were known to be eccentric and 
original ; independent thinkers and much given to discus- 
sion on political, theological, and other questions. News- 
papers being an expensive luxur>' in those days, a single 
copy had to serve at least a dozen families, and this gave 
rise to gatherings at the stairhead during diet hours, known 
as "committees," at which the news of the day was read 
aloud and commented upon by the assembled auditors. 
There was a representative committee for every score of 
houses or so, one meeting at the " Clay Holes " (where our 
father was brought up), another at the " Loan " (where he 
first lived after his marriage), and another at the not distant 
suburb of " Dovecotland." Here was opportunity for the exer- 
cise of much natural oratory, passionate enough at times, fired 
as it was by the Chartist excitement then smouldering. A 
number of Chartists in Perth held their meetings in an under- 
ground cellar lit only by a few tallow candles, and at night 
young Davie was wont to creep in there unperceived, and hid- 
ing behind some empty casks, to " assist " at their proceedings. 

His father's house was lonely for a lad of his ardent tempera- 
ment, so his favourite " howfs" were his grannie's and his aun- 



" Hoo oor John sochl me for his wife" 



15 



tie's, where he heard many an auld ballad and many an "auld 
warld" tale. His grannie spoiled him, as most grannies do, and 
her house was always a place of refuge in time of trouble. 




At his auntie's he heard many a gossip between her and her 
■cronies. " Toots, never heed the laddie," they said ; " he is 
ower young to understand oor clavers." And so he was, but 
the words of their talk fell upon his ears like seed upon good 
ground, and bringing forth fruit in after life formed the basis 
of many a humorous love story that touched the hearts of his 
audiences in all parts of the world. " Hoo oor John socht me 
for his wife " was most directly derived from this source — and 
here we give it as nearly as possible in his own words, though 
the truth is these stories were seldom told twice alike, and 
many a time, if his audience entered into it heartily, the story 
grew with added inspiration. This is merely the skeleton, to 
be filled in not only with other details, but above all with our 
father's own personality. 

" Behold twa auld wives seated at the fireside drinking the 



1 6 Reminiscences of David Kenjiedy. 

blackest of tea, the old brown teapot at the fire, blackened 
. with use and broken at the stroup. * Eh, woman, but that's 
grand tea — it sticks to the roof o' yer moo ! Nane o' yer new 
fangled German silver teapats for me ; ye dinna get the guid o* 
the tea unless it stands half an hour at the fire.' 

" There they sit, cracking ower their young days, the one 
nervous, thin, black-eyed — poetic ; the other squat and stout, 
practical, matter-of-fact — prosaic. But they both enjoy a 
gossip, and keckle ower the stories o* their courtin, the recollec- 
tion of which seems even sweeter than the reality. * Eh, but 
thae were grand days, thae young days ; weel dae I mind — 
dear me, this is the very nicht forty years sin that oor John 
socht me for his wife. TU tell ye the whole sXoTy — if yc'll pro- 
mise to tell me what your man said to you when he socht you ; 
but ye mauna repeat it, mind ye, to ony other body. 

" John and me had gane thegither for five year. It's a lang 
time, and I began to weary on John — a woman does na like to 
hing on ower lang, ye ken — I was beginnin' to be feared that 
if he didna speak soon he wadna speak ava. 

" * Tuesday nichts and Friday nichts were John's nichts, so 
John an' me were rale sib. Weel, ye ken, my faither's hoose 
stood in the middle o' a garden, and when John cam to see me 
he gae three raps on the window. Some chicls gae twa raps 
and some four raps and a whistle, but our John, ye ken, just gae 
three raps. Weel, this nicht we were a' sittin at the fireside, 
three raps cam to the window, and my heart gae a dunt, for 
I kenned it was him. But I never let on, ye ken. By and by 
I laid doon the stockin' I was darning, and slippit oot quietly, 
and says I, " Is that you, John ? " and oot o' the dark a deep 
voice says, " Ay, it's me, Janet." Then I heard a motion 
among the busses, and it cam' nearer and nearer till John was 
at my side, and eh ! sic a wark he made wi' me.' 



" Hoo oor John sochi me for his wife" 17 

" ' Eh, woman, look at that deil o' a laddie glowerin' at ye 
and takin' in a' ye say.' 

" ' Hoots, awa, woman t the laddie's ower young to under- 
stand oor clavers. Here's a piece an' treacle tae ye, Davie. 
That'll shut his mouth and his lugs baith.' 

" ' Weel, awa doon the brae we gaed thegither. " It's a fine 
nicht," says I. " Grand weather for the craps," says John, but 
no anither word did he speak. John was never a great hand 
at sayin' muckle, and this nicht he was waur than ever. So 
doon the brae we gaed, and I fand John's arm slippin' roond 
my waist By and by I made believe to miss my foot, ye ken, 
and that gar'd John hand me tighter ! I'm tellin' ye the whole 
truth, altho' I think black bumin' shame. Folks thinks that 
it's the lads that coorts the lasses, it's naething o' the kind, it's 
the lasses that coorts the lads, for I'm sure,' said the auld wife^ 
'if I hadna gi'en John a hand, he wad never hae gotten on ava,' 

" ' Eat awa at yer piece and treacle, laddie, and dinna glower 
at me like that' 

"' Weel, at the foot o' the brae we sat doon aneath a bus', 
whaur there was just room for John and me, and it's bonnie 
branches hid us frae every mortal e'e. Even the impertinent 
man in the moon, that sees sae mony things he shouldna see, 
couldna see in on us that nicht There we sat a lang 
time, and John as usual said naething, but a' this time his arm 
was round my waist, and at last it began to shake, and he said, 
"Janet," and thinks I to mysfel' I've catched John at last; 
but something stuck in his throat, for he said nae main And 
there we sat and sat, an' better sat, an' eh ! we were sae happy. 
" Surely," thinks I, " this is heaven upon earth." But all of a 
sudden John ^tonished me, for a better behaved young man 
never lived, he took a haud o' my head and he pressed it till 
his bosom, and I fand his heart knock, k-nock, k-nockin' against 



1 8 Reminiscences of David Kennedy, 

ixiy lug, and says he to me, says he, " Janet, Janet, w-w-will 
ye, will ye marry me ? " Eh, woman ! was na I richt glad to 
hear that ! ! But a lassie canna expect to hear that very 
often in her life, so she maunna be in a hurry to answer. 
The tears were rinnin* doon my cheeks. John's arm was 
round my waist; and my head was on John's bosom, and 
his heart was k-nockin' waur than ever. But I didna wait 
ower lang, for fear I should lose him a'thegither ; so says I to 
him, says I, " Jo-o-hn, yes," and wi* that oor John gaed clean 
daft a'thegither, and he fairly worried me up wi' kisses.' 

" * Hoot, awa' woman,' said the prosaic wife, * sic ongaeins ! 
My man and me were na sic fools. When my man cam' to see 
me, he cam' into the hoose like ony decent man — to be sure 
there was nane but him and me in the hoose at the time — and 
he sits doun in my father's chair, puts his tae leg ower the tither, 
and toasts his taes at the fire. ** Ony news ?" says I. " Ou ay," 
says he ; " I've ta'en a hoose." " Ta'en a hoose ?" says I. "Ay ! 
ta'en a hoose ^x\A fumishin' a hoose." "Losh be here," quo I, 
" ta'en a hoose and furnishin' a hoose 1 Wha are ye furnishin' 
the hoose for?" " I'm furnishin' the hoose for you." " Oh, if 
that be the way o't, it wad be a great pity to lose the guid 
furniture." ' " Such the talk he heard at his auntie's. 

His mother, like most frugal and industrious wives of that 
time, went as a rule in the autumn to work at the "hairst" 
(harvest gathering), and she took Davie with her. That was 
before the days of reaping machines, when the harvest was 
gathered in by rows of sturdy, merry bandsters of both sexes, 
and they, when the evening shadows fell, gathered into the barn 
and beguiled the time telling stories and singing songs, many 
of which are only now, for the first time, seeing the light in a 
published form. Here the young lad heard the traditional 
versions of the old songs and mingled in such scenes as sur- 



School Days. 19 

rounded Robert Burns, and was thus fitted for his life work by 
seeing the last of that form of peasant life which gave birth to 
much that is noblest and purest in Scottish minstrelsy. 

At five years of age he was sent to school. He was a good 
scholar, but it was on reading days that he came to the front 
and made his teacher feel proud of him. Elocution was a 
favourite study with Crichton, the master, and our father 
always said that he owed much to him for this early initiation 
into the art of reading. 

He was fond of introducing a scene from his schoolboy days 
when prefacing Sir W. Scott's ballad of " Young Lochinvar." 
This had been a favourite piece for reciting in Crichton's 
School, and was often chosen for declamation on certain Satur- 
day mornings, when friends and former pupils (tall lads from the 
■college, of whom the school laddies stood greatly in awe), 
gathered in to " assist " at the recitals. There is the master, 
pacing to and fro, more excited than any of the boys, and 
shouting "Silence!" merely to relieve the tenson of his own 
nervous state. And the chosen boys, ranged along the wall on 
the unsteady elevation afforded by a narrow form, are not 
likely to have much freedom in suiting the action to the word. 
There is the dux, a boy with a large head, globular eyes and 
retentive memory, and next to him the hero of the school, the 
laddie whose pouches were aye stuffed wi' " calk " and 
" skeelie," and string and " bools," and who could run fastest, 
climb highest, and eat more raw turnips without injury to his 
digestion, than any other boy in the school. But whatever 
their other qualifications, they cannot satisfy their teacher with 
the reading of the ballad, and it ends by his showing to them 
(and to the admiring audience), how it ought to be done. 

At sixteen years of age he was apprenticed to Douglas the 
house-painter, and now b^an a life of hard work and hard 



20 R£m:KL:.:i7L:^s ^f Crzii Alrc^^^V. 



He commenced wt>rk at sx m the mommg^ and 
finished at e^:fat in the eYcmi^. But the diet hours were 
precious, and he never sopped his 'halesomeparritch' or mid> 
day " kail " withoot a book in one hand, while the spoon was 
doing service in the other. He was so wearied sometimes 
when he came home at n^t, that Sit^ue overcame hunger^ 
and he fell asleep with the bread in his moath. 

The love of reading was with him a passion that lasted till 
death. Enthusiasm characterized everj-thing fliat he saki or 
did ; exaggeration, men of colder nature called it The Kirk 
Library was ransacked for books to satisfy his craving for 
information and mental stimulus, and he never forgot the 
benefit he had derived from it, when in later life he sang for 
the benefit of such institutions in his own and other lands. 
On returning to Perth once after a lengthened absence, he 
crept up the library stairs on his hands and knees in loving 
memory of the enthusiastic reading days of his youth. 

On Sunday mornings he woke at four, got his book and read 
till breakfast time. One Sunday morning his mother found 
him reading "Rollin's Ancient History," and being a strict 
Sabbatarian was anxious to know what he w^as poring over. 
" Eh, laddie, what's that ye're readin'?" she asked. " It's the 
history o' Egypt, mither," he replied. " That's a' richt then, 
Davie," she said, quite reassured, and left him undisturbed till 
the special duties of the day began. These were not light, 
and left little time for reading. Three times to the kirk they 
went, and once to the Sabbath School, and as he grew older 
the morning Bible Class was added to the list 

With all the economy of his father's household there was no 
sense of poverty. The cheap musical publications of the pre- 
sent day, putting classical works within the reach of all, were 
then undreamt of, yet our grandfather had a good though 



Joht TempUton. 21 

small musical library, and his own copy of the " Messiah," a 
lai^ folio edition, is the finest we yet have. It is inscribed 
in his own hand — 

DAVID KENNEDY, 
PRKCBNTOR TO THl NOBTH UNITED SECESSION CHURCH, 

Perth, 1S43. 

They attended every concert that was given in Perth, eagerly 
scanning the programmes for novelties, and were familiar with 
the repertoires of the elder Braham, John Wilson, John Tem- 
pleton, Russell, etc While still considered too young to be 
admitted into the enjoyment of such privileges, Davie was 
even a more enthusiastic worshipper than his elders at the 
shrines of the great singers, as the following incident will show. 

One night John Templeton was singing in the Theatre in 
Perth. The young 'prentice laddie was working in a house 
some ten or twelve miles distant, in the Carse o' Gowrie. On 
the night of the concert the rain fell in torrents, and the road 
to Perth was lost in darkness. He had no money to pay for 
admission, and no means of reaching Perth save on his own 
feet ; but he was not to be deterred by such impediments — his 
youthful enthusiasm knew no obstacles. He ran all the way, 
" skelpin' on thro' dub and mire," and covered the distance in 
two hours. When he arrived at the theatre door the concert 
bad begun, so he listened at the keyhole during the remainder 
of the performance, and the rain which had gathered on the 
ledge of the roof dripped steadily down on the back of his 
neck, sufficient surely to have cooled the ardour of any feeling 
short of unquenchable enthusiasm 1 

Next morning he had to be back to his work in the Carse 
by six o'clock. But now the rain had ceased, the sky was 
clear, and-he had heard the great singer, so be walked lightly 



22 Reminiscences of David Kennedy. 

back by the road that had seemed so dark the night before, 
singing lustily to himself one of Templeton's favourite songs — 

" There was a jolly beggar, and a beggin* be was boon*. 
An' he took np his quarteks into a landwart toon ; 
An' well gang nae mair a roiin' sae late into the nicht — 
Well gang nae mair a rorin' tho' the moon diine e'er sae brichL 
An' we'll gang nae mair a rovin' 



.» »» 



The chorus of this song gave Templeton an opportunity for 
considerable display in fioriture, which, according to the pre* 
vaih'ng musical taste of the period, was considered essential to 
effective public singing. This now antiquated taste, as far as 
ballad singing is concerned, was instanced years afterwards in 
the criticism of an old man on our father's singing after one of 
his concerts, given in a town in Fife. He was walking home, 
and having overtaken some of the audience, he overheard this 
old man remark that '* That man couldna sing ava', he had nae 
floorishes ! " But Templeton was a perfect master of the florid 
school of singing, and like most tenor singers of his time, in- 
dulged freely in the use of the falsetto voice. This may ac- 
count, to some extent, for his early loss of vocal power and 
consequent disappearance from public life when under fifty 
years of age. 

Our father became intimately acquainted with him in after 
life, and made many a pilgrimage to Tempi Villa, the cosy 
little house in the village of New Hampton on the Thames, 
some twelve miles out of London, where the old singer lived in 
retirement for over thirty years. 

Apropos of these visits to Tempi Villa, the following reminis- 
cence from the letter of one who was equally the friend of 
Templeton and Kennedy may be of interest : — 

" Your father, Robert, and I had arranged to spend an after- 
noon in June, some years ago, with Templeton. The old 



John Templeton. 23 

gentleman was then in excellent health ; and upon our arrival 
at Fullwell Station, we found hira sitting in an open ' fly ' 
waiting for us. We had arranged that we should have a twa 
hours' drive, and then a ' toosie tea ' at Tempfe Villa. The 
night was beautiful, and ere the sun went down we were seated 
beneath a fine old tree on the lawn. Temp& garden looked its- 
best The roses were in full bloom. The fragrant honeysuckle 
hung in clusters over our heads. The birds were warbling forth 
their matchless songs. The human songsters were unco croose 
and very happy, indulging in a wee, wee drappie. All at once 
your father sprang to his feet with the exclamation, ' Templeton^ 
do you know what day this is ? ' ' No,' ' It is the twenty-fourth 
of June — the anniversary of Bannockbum. Uncover every son 
of Scotland, and drink to the immortal memory of Bruce and 
Wallace!' With that New Hampton echoed and resounded 
with the mighty war-song ' Scots wha hae,' sung in a manner 
rarely beard in the concert-room even when the trumpet tones 
of the master-minstrel were at their best" 

When John Templeton revisited Scotland, as he usually did 
every summer, he was always a welcome guest at our father's 
house in Edinburgh. We were all familiar with the appearance 
of the venerable old man with the flowing white hair and beard, 
but could find little trace in him of the elegant young singer of his 
earlier portraits. Many a story he told us of his early pro- 
fessional life and connection with Malibran, and of his travels 
in Scotland and America before the days of railways. He 
died only two months before our father in his 85th year, and 
the world, hearing of his death, was astonished — he had been 
dead to the world for so many years. 

Davie's 'prentice life, though a hard one, was a bright one. 
One summer he was employed in the country at the house of a 
Mrs. Campbell, whose elder son Sandy was very musical. 



24 RcfninLiCcKCcS of Dai id Kenrudy. 

He had been away from home at the time of the house 
painting, and when he returned his mother greeted him with — 
^ Eh, Sandy, it's a great pit>- >-e werena at hame last week, for 
we had a grand singin^ painter laddie worldn' here." Her two 
sons emigrated to Canada — the younger settling in Stratford, 
Ontario (where our father died), the elder on a farm some forty 
miles distant The latter never missed an opportunity of 
driving to the nearest town to hear again ^ the grand singin' 
painter laddie," and these two brothers, Perth laddies like 
himself, were the last friends admitted to see him on his death- 
bed. 

When old enough to be initiated into the m^'steries of part- 
singing, Davie was made a member of his father's glee club, 
and then it was that he acquired that love of the old English 
unaccompanied part music that prompted him, when his family 
grew up around him, to train them in the singing of the glees 
and madrigals which found such acceptance at their concerts 
when singing round the world. 

Our grandfather's voice was a pure, light tenor, in quality 
resembling that of John Wilson, who was his beau ideal of a 
singer, and for years he refused to believe in his son's qualifica- 
tion for the profession he finally adopted, he being, in many 
respects, so distinct from his famous predecessor. 

Davie had been singing alto for some time at his father's 
concerts, when one night he was put down on the programme 
for a solo, the piece chosen for his debut being the exquisitely 
beautiful Jacobite song ** Wae's me for Prince Charlie." He 
was quite overcome with nervousness, and unconsciously as 
he proceeded, he gradually turned his face away from the 
audience, his head being completely averted at the close of the 
song. In after life this was one of his favourite songs, and his 
introduction to it (original, as indeed were all his prefatory 



\ 



" JVae's me for Prince Charlie" 



25 



cemarks to the songs) was very beautiful If we transcribe it, 
it may give those who never heard him an idea of his manner 
of prefacing the songs, vivifying the main points and surround- 
ing them with beautiful, interesting, or touching details which 
revealed new beauties in songs already almost hackneyed 
favourites, and in certain instances rescued misunderstood 
5ongs from semi-oblivion. 

The story of " Wae's me for Prince Charlie " is supposed to 
take place immediately after the failure of the last attempt of 
the exiled Stuart race to regain their forefathers' throne. 
Prince Charlie has had to fly for his life, thirty thousand 
pounds being offered for his head, and has spent many weeks 
■of privation in the Western Highlands and Islands before 
effecting his escape to France. The words of the song are as 
Tollows : — 



A wee bird cam' to oor ha' door. 

He warbled sweet and cleaily, 
An' aye the owercome o' his sang 

Was "Wae'sme for Prince Charlie!" 
Oh, when I heaid the bonnie bonnie bird 

The tears cain' drappin' sarely, 
I took my bannel affmy head. 

For weel I lo'ed Ftince Charlie [ 

Qnoth I, " My bird, my bonnie bonnie 
bird. 

Is that a tale ye borrow, 
Oi is't some words ye've learnt by rote. 

Or a lilt o' dool an' sorrow ? " 
"Oh ! no, no, BO," the wee bird sang. 

But lie a day o' wind and tain — 
O ! wae's me for Prince Charlie !" 

" On hi]k that are by richt his ain 

He roams a lonely stranger. 
On ilka Mde he's pressed by want. 

On ilka fide by daogei. 



Yestreen I met him in a glen, 
My heart maist burstit lairly, 

For sairly changed indeed was he, 
O I wae's me for Prince Charlie !" 

Dark nicbt came on, the tempest roared 

Cold o'er the hills and valleys. 
An' whaur was't that your prince lay 

Wbase hame should been a palace P 
He rowed him in a Highland plaid 

Which covered him but sparely, 
An' slept beneath a bush o' bioom, 

O ! wae's me for Prince Charlie ! 

But now the bird saw some red coats, 

An' he ehook his wings wi' anger, 
" Oh ! this is no a land for me, 

I'll larry here nae langer." 
Awhile he hovered on the wing 

Ere he departed fair)]', 
But weel I mind the fareweel strain 

Was "Wae's me for Prince Charlie !" 



T. 



There £3 do hint in tbe scci? as to the character of the Jaoobrte 
scrger. ve oclv krvDv ^'m to be a ran by tbe act of baring the 
head :n revereace. Bet Kenaedy vas cever happy in render- 
ing a socg unless be coold, first to himself and then to his 
acdfence, imperscrate the singer. And these impersonations 
vere all taken from life, the ok! man in the follovii^ instance 
befng his own Jacsbtte ancestor who returned from Colloden, 
and who, when he was an o!d man, sat and grat by the fire 
and moaned to hfmself over the failure of the Jacobite 
Rebellion. The following was my fathers introduction to the 
v>ng, sketched in brief sentences, the result of long experience 
in pabsic speaking : — 

•* Ac day a wee bird was fl>-ing from tree to tree seeking 
food for its young, when it spied the hunted prince scougin^ 
aneath a bus'. It flew straight to yonder house, where an auld 
man h'ved that loved Charlie, and there it sang the password 
fd their party, * Waes me for Prince Charlie.' WTien the auld 
man heard it he kent the birdie was a Jacobite, for all lovely 
things, the lasses on the earth and the laverocks in heaven, were 
on Charlie's side. Oot he cam*, the tears streaming down his 
furrowed cheeks, and reverently took aff his bannet at Charlie's 
name. There the two held s\%'eet converse together, feeling 
that sorrow when shared tasted like joy, till red coats were 
»ccn comin', thirty thousand pound men, seekin' for Charlie. 
When the birdie saw them, anger dried its tears, and * dichtin^ 
it'» c'c wi' its wing, it said, * This is no a land for ane o' my 
ojiinions, I'm aff.' But it couldna flee far, for it was tethered 
by love to the auld man*s heart Circling like a musical 
halo round the auld man's head, ever>' note a tear drop in 
it, rang the refrain, *Wae's me for Prince Charlie,' and the 
auld man, Icx>king up till his eyes were blinded with tears,, 
drew his blue bonnet doon ower his broos, and turning back 



4 ^. 



Firit Precentorship. 27 

to the hoose, drew a creepie near to the fire, put anither 
peat on, and murmured to himsel', 'Wae's me for Prince 
Charlie,' while far in the blue lift amang the white clouds 
the birdie soared and sang, 'Wae's me for Prince Charlie,* 
heaven and earth at this moment lamenting the fate of ' the 
bom King of Scotland.' " 

As Davie grew up to man's estate he appeared a thin, black- 
haired, bright-eyed youth, full of life and determination, yet 
somewhat reserved and very sensitive He was studious, a 
teetotaller (a rare thing in those days), he did not smoke, was a 
member of the kirk, and a much respected son of a much 
respected father. 

So recent was the temperance movement that, when he was 
a laddie, he ran with other laddies to get a sicht o' a man of 
whom it was actually said that lu didna drink wkuskey. 

When only eighteen he was already assisting his father in the 
precentorship of the North Kirk ; but his first attempt at psalm- 
singing, made in a small country kirk, had been almost as dis- 
heartening as his debut as a solo-singer. The tune chosen was 
"French," familiar to him from boyhood; butthesame nervous- 
ness that paralysed him as a child saying bis catechism to the 
minister seized him now. He could remember no more than 
two lines of the tune, and to these he sang the whole of the 
psalm. 

At the age of twenty he succeeded his uncle in the precentor- 
ship of the South Kirk, and there he led the psalms with such 
vocal power and musical and religious feeling, that he soon 
made for himself a local fame. The improvement of the musical 
service of the church was a matter he had always at heart On 
his long and arduous tours through Canada, singing every 
night, sometimes in six different towns in one week, he would 
lead the psalmody in the two Presbyterian kirks on Sunday, 



28 Reminiscences of David Kennedy, 

and the congregations were frequently so increased that chairs 
and forms had to be placed in the aisles to accommodate the 
people. One Sunday he was singing in Dr. Thomson's church 
in Samia, Ont, where many of the congregation came from the 
outlying country district One old farmer, a type of the old 
Scottish covenanter transplanted to Canadian soil, had driven 
in some miles to the service. After it was over he came round 
to the vestry, and speaking in the loud tone of one accustomed 
to gfive orders in the open air, he said to the minister, " It is no 
often ye see me in Sarnia, but I've been in twice, nae less, this 
week. I cam in on Thursday to hear that man singin' the 
sangs o' Robbie Burns, an' noo' I'm in again the day, hearin' 
him sing the Psalms o' David, and on the whole," speaking 
slowly and with g^eat deliberation, as though not quite assured 
in his own mind, " on the whole, I think that king David has 
rather the heels o* (is a little in advance of) Robbie Bums." 

About a stone's throw from his father's house in Perth, lived 
the family of Robert Henderson. The old man was a great 
reader, and there David went in the evening to "hae a crack 
wi' the auld man " and get the loan of books to read. There 
was a large family of them, and the young folks were much 
together, and it ended by his falling in love with the eldest 
daughter Helen. He had had an early love experience, like 
most laddies, for when only four years of age he fell in love 
with a lassie much older than himself He never spoke to her 
nor dreamt even of approaching her, but like the lover of 
" Auld Joe Nicholson's Bonnie Nannie," he cowered behind a 
bush as she passed along the road, and — 

** His heart lay beatin* the flowery grass, 
In quakin*, quiverin', agitation ; 
An' the tears cam' tricklin' doon frae his «'en, 
Wi' perfect love and admiration." 



Lecturing. 29 

The year '48 (he being then 23 years of age), was an event- 
ful year with him. In the month of February, he gave a 
lecture in the South Kirk on the History of Music The 
programme, a very ambitious one, raises a smile at its compre- 
hensiveness, embracing as it does — The Origin of Music — the 
Music of Savage Nations — ^the Music of the Antediluvians — 
of Egypt, India, China, Persia, Turkey, Arabia, — of the He- 
brews — of Greece, Rome, Germany, France, Spain, Russia, 
Lapland, Sweden, England, Scotland — the Universality of 
Music — ^the Influence of Music, and the state of Music in the 
Schools and Churches at the present time. It was a success. 
Shortly after this he wrote an essay on the Sabbath (the 
Sabbath question was at that time agitating the whole coun- 
try) as competitor for a prize offered for the best essay on the 
subject written by a working man. He gained ;^s, a consider- 
able sum in Perth in those days, when the annual salary of a 
precentor was £i, and the rent of a respectable house was only 
£2 a year. 

Being now ajoumeyman painter, he felt a desire to improve 
himself in his trade, so, in the spring, having got a substitute to 
fill his place in the precentor's desk, he left Perth for Edin- 
burgh to seek for temporary employment thert 

His first visit to Edinburgh had been made in company with 
his father some years previously, they having walked all the 
way from Perth, for the purpose of hearing a grand performance 
of the " Messiah " in the Music Hall, George Street But this 
was the first time he had been away from home alone, and his 
sense of loneliness and homesickness was intense. 

He was sent first across the Forth to work at Burntisland, 
but later he went south to Kelso, and worked for two months 
at a beautifully situated house called Newton Don. From 
there, having now gained some experience^ and being 



30 Reminiscences of Darcid Kennedy. 

anxious to see the best work done and to provide for his 
approaching marriage, he went in the antumn to London. He 
was a skilled and energetic workman, and got emplo3rment on 
many imp(Mtant buiklings. 

One day as he was engaged in painting a ceilii^ in one oX. 
the rooms of Buckingham Palace, Prince Albert came through 
on a tour of inspection. There was naturally a stir amongst 
the men, but the work on which they were engaged was c^ a 
most delicate and exacting nature, and demanded their con- 
stant and undisturbed attentioa In hurriedly moving back a 
scaffolding, he narrowly missed tilting over the Prince's hat ; 
but, unaffected by this slight incident, he continued his work, 
and fortunately finished his half of the ceiling without a blemish. 
The other half, unfortunately, showed signs of the disturbance, 
and the poor fellow who had been at work on it was never seen 
at his post again. 

But the time during his stay in London was not all devoted 
to work, he took advantage of the abundant opportunities 
afforded there of hearing the best of everything in the musical 
world. In a letter to a friend he writes : — ** I have been out 
late two or three nights since I came, and always found some 
poor wanderer asleep on some comer or doorstep, while the 
place I had left (Her Majesty's Theatre) blazed with the 
jewels of coroneted heads." And in another — " I got the 
greatest treat on Tuesday night that ever I had in my life — 
the oratorio of the Messiah, containing his annunciation, 
humiliation — ^his mission. I felt as if I were among the glori- 
fied saints before the throne of God. I don't think I ever felt 
so completely in the atmosphere of heaven — every fibre in my 
body— every feeling of my heart — was in the most excited 
state, and I felt the tears begin to trickle o'er my cheek." 

On returning to Perth at the close of the year, he married 



Commences Business. 31 

Helen Henderson, and shortly afterwards set up in business 
for himself in the High Street as a house painter. He settled 
down to hard work for some years, but felt that this was not 
destined to be his life work. From a boy he had cherished the 
hope of being able to follow in the footsteps of Wilson and 
Templeton, and years only strengthened his belief that he was 
bom to be their successor. 

After five years of happy married life, his wife died, leaving 
him with three bairns — two sons, David and Robert, and one 
daughter, Helen. In his loneliness more than ever, the call to 
sing his country's songs forced itself upon him. Going down 
a lane one day he prayed to God to help him, to tell him if it 
were His will that he should be a singer of the songs of Scot- 
land. The answer came "Thou shalt sing," and from that day 
he decided to take the daring step of changing his whole 
career ; but there was much to do to prepare himself for his 
new work, and to sever his connection with the old. 

Two years later he married again, and his second wife, 
Elizabeth Fraser, proved a faithful companion and fearless 
traveller, accompanying her husband in all his afler 
wanderings 

Still carrying on his business in Perth, he went periodically 
to Edinburgh, and spent every sovereign he could spare oa 
lessons in singing and elocution. The latter he studied under 
Bell, whom he afterwards met in America, enjoying, in his old 
age, the fame of his sor^ the telephone inventor. He studied 
singing with Edmund Edmunds, an Englishman trained in 
the Italian school, and an excellent teacher, from whom he 
received invaluable aid in the art of phrasing and dramatic 
expression. To him he confided his hopes, his ambition, 
his position as a married man with a family dependent 
on him, and a business in Perth fairly started, and asked 



32 Reminiscences of David Kennedy. 

him his deliberate opinion — ^should he dare to throw up 
everything and risk his fortune as a public singer — a difficult 
question to answer. WTien asked for similar advice by youngf 
aspirants to fame, our father used to tell them that if they loved 
music well enough to starve on it for a time, they might risk it^ 
but hardly otherwise. 

Mr. Edmunds, al^^^ys a true friend of his pupil, and much 
beloved and esteemed by him, took a turn or two round the 
room, then reseating himself on the music stool, he said " Yes.**^ 
Mr. Edmunds watched his career ever after with the greatest 
interest — never let the opportunity slip of hearing him from 
time to time, and often cheered him with the praise a public 
performer values from a competent critic, while kindly 
advice was never wanting both to the singer and his family. 
Mr. Edmunds still teaches in Edinburgh, and was one of those 
who helped to lay our father in his last resting place. 

At this time the precentorship of Nicholson Street U.P. 
Church, Edinburgh, was vacant. It was a large and prosperous 
congregation, and in order to secure the services of a really 
good man, they offered a salary of £/^o a year — a very large 
salary for a precentorship in those days — and no fewer than 
forty names were enrolled on the list of candidates. David 
Kennedy added his to the list It was a name unknown to 
Edinburgh at that time, but the forty precentors who were 
gathered on the day of trial in the upper room of the kirk 
buildings came from far and near, and some of them had heard 
of Kennedy, the precentor of Perth. When the future Scottish 
singer and traveller was ushered into the room by Mr. David 
Hay (chairman of the musical committee), a whisper went 
round the room, " There's Kennedy frae Perth ; if he's going to 
try for it, we ither chiels hae little chance." 

One by one they were conducted from the room to undergo 



Success as Precentor. 33 

the ordeal of a strict musical examination before competent 
jndges, and when at last David Kennedy was called out, he 
turned to his brother precentors, to whom he had been chat- 
ting cheerily the while, and said, "Weel, gentlemen, success to 
ye a' I " Besides being possessor of a fine voice of the tenore 
robusto quality, he had had twelve years experience in church 
singing, and was, thanks to his father's training and his own 
persevering study, a good musician. He made his mark, at 
the examination, and when he occupied the precentor's desk 
on Sunday the congregation heard the tune of "Montrose"" 
sung as they had never heard it sung before. He was unani* 
mously elected to the post by committee and congregation,, 
and held it for five years. 



34 Reminiscences of David Kennedy. 



Chapter II. — Beginning of Professional Career. 
Having sold his business in Perth and removed his family to 

• 

Edinburgh, he meanwhile devoted himself to teaching and 
occasional concert-giving. He had classes in several schools 
and churches in Edinburgh and Leith, one being Dr. Guthrie's 
Ragged School. He was greatly liked by his pupils, and the 
Ragged School laddies in particular used to hang on to his 
coat tails when they saw him on the street 

He was appointed leader of the Edinburgh Tonic Sol-fa 
Society, and also formed singing classes in the neighbourhood 
and in Fife. Many a pupil of those days travelled miles to 
see and hear their old teacher when years afterwards he was 
touring in America, South Africa, India, or Australia. 

All the time not taken up with teaching was devoted to a 
diligent and loving study of the "Auld Scots Sang^s," and 
gaining access to the Advocates' Library, he there pored over 
the "auld beuks" and drank in a love for the anonymous 
ballads of the Middle Ages that in a manner prejudiced him 
for life against anything new. Not that he failed to recognize 
the beauty of such modern songs as Professor Aytoun's "Annie's 
Tryste," James Ballantine's " Ilka blade o' grass keps its ain 
drap o' dew," or Mrs. Boyd's " Lang Awa' Ship," all of which 
he sang ; but for an auld sang such as "Tak' yer auld cloak 
aboot ye," he had feelings of tender reverence which excluded 
criticism. He believed that a song could not live for centuries 
unless it were, on some side, true to nature, and he unceasingly, 
all through his long professional career, studied the old ballads 
^nd turned them over and over in his mind till he had dis- 



Studying the " Auld Scots Sangs" 35 

covered the reading which he thought most forcibly revealed 
this truth. Many a song was studied, tried in public, found 
unsatisfactory, and laid aside, only to be taken up again and 
again with different readings till it finally reach success, as, for 
instance, "The Weary Pund o' Tow," "The Deil's awa wi' the 
Exciseman," " Tibbie Fowler o' the Glen," or " The Auld Man's 
Mare 's Dead." What a turning out of the volumes ot Herd's 
Collection, R, A, Smith's Collection, Thomson's Collection, and 
Johnson's Museum there used to be when we came home on 
Saturdays from our weekly tours in Scotland I Then the 
versions in these had to be compared with those in Whitelaw's 
" Book of Scottish Song," Robert Chambers' " Scottish Songs 
Prior to Bums," etc The last named volume was coming out 
at the time when he was precenting and teaching in Edin- 
bui^h, and he has told us that he then had the congenial task 
of working on it In this way he first made the acquaintance 
of Robert Chambers, who remained A warm friend of his 
through life. 

Besides his own teaching and concert-giving, he had many 
concert engagements, principally through Howard of the Edin- 
burgh Concerts ; and in January, '59, the year of the Bums 
Centenary, he was engaged for the Burns Celebration in St 
Geoige's Hall, Liverpool. 

It is a significant coincidence that his first important public 
appearance was at a concert in honour of his beloved bard, and 
that his last concert, given in the western town of Samia, Ont, 
when the shadow of death was already upon him, was "A Nicht 
wi' Bums." He was.the interpreter of Bums because he loved 
him ; and such was his high ideal of the poet, that he could not 
give a Bums " Nicht " ia the remotest corner of the earth with- 
out feeling grave responsibility, and getting into a highly 
nervous state of excitement 



36 Reminiscences of David Kennedq, 

While on the subject of his admiration of Bums, it may be 
as well to insert a letter of his to a friend, thanking him for 
having secured him a copy of the first edition of Burns' poems^ 
It is dated from his house in Edinburgh. 

"8 St Andrew's Terrace, July, 1876. 
" My dear Freen, 

'* Got your letter, and on Tuesday the 
Book, Thank you very much for the trouble you have taken. 
I rejoice to look at the page, for example, where * Green grow 
the rashes o ' first met the human eye — eye made humid, eye 
made bright by him whose heart was a boiling fountain of 
Scottish and manly feeling, and whose brain could clothe the 
common with the divine." 

He used to say of Burns that if ever they elected a parlia-^ 
ment of the immortals. Burns would be chosen as the represen- 
tative of Scotland. " The three names," he said, " that stir to 
their depths the hearts of all Scotsmen, are Sir William 
Wallace, John Knox, and Robert Burns." 

These early concert engagements were very encouraging,, 
but his aim was to take up the work which Wilson's sudden 
death had left unfinished — to sing the songs of Scotland round 
the world. So in the winter of '59 he set to work, and in 
order to prepare a large repertoire and to test songs by public 
performance, he started a series of Monday night concerts ia 
the Buccleugh Street Hall, Edinburgh, which were continued 
weekly for three months. Every Monday a fresh programme of 
twelve songs was gone through, no number ever being 
repeated, and in this way he tested no fewer than one hundred 
and fifty songs and ballads ancient and modem. The 
programmes were varied and interesting, and there were not a 
few constant attenders at the weekly concerts — Professor 
Ayton and Robert Chambers being of the number. The 
following IS a copy of one of the handbills : — 



Cofy of Handbill, 1859. 37 

SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



BuccLEUGH St. Hall. 



KENNEDY'S 

Entertainment on the 

SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Embmciiie specimens from the esilieit period to Ibe present time, ii 

with Antiquarian, Critical, and Bii^isphical notices. 

Every Monday Evening. 



Tht.HaU will be eemferlably ktaltd. 



SONCS AMD BALUU>S FOK MONDAY, 
Nov. 26. 

Part I. 



The brisk TouDg lad. 
The Bailirs daughter of Islington 
{English diuy). 

Part II. 

The Bonnie House o' Airlie. 

In a gaiden so green (Aberdeen Can- 

tus, i66z). 
EailstouD (NarraliTe BalUd). 
The Rin awa' Bride. 
Bessie Bell and Mary Gray. 
Woo'd an' married an' a'. 



Songs and Ballads fok Monday, 

DtC. 3KD. 

Part I. 

Leezie Lindsay. 

O 1 Waly; Waly. 

My Wife has [a'cn the gee. 

Tbe dowie dens o' Yanow [Narrative 

Ballad). 
Sweet Kale (Aberdeen Cantus, 1663). 
Saw ye my Faither? 

Part II. 
There was a Jolly 
Hollan', Green He 
Ca the Ewes to the Knowes. 
John Grumlie. 
An thou wert my ain thing. 
Allisler M'Allisler. 



Miss Pringle will Preside at the Piano. 



To 



a quarter past Eight o'clock. Doors open half an hour before. 



In the summer of '60, when the classes were in recess, he 
made short concert tours in Scotland, and in '61 went as far 
north as the Orkney Islands. In these tentative efforts he was 
very successful, and feeling that it was now time to take a 
decided stand in his profession he turned his thoughts to aa 
^»pearance in London, for which he had all along been pre- 
paring lumselC He wisely chose a list, Edward 



3S 



Reminisceiua cf DaTui Kennedy. 



Land (so long associated with John WHsoo), and made his 
first appearance io the Metrc^ioUs in the Hanover Square 
Rooms in the summer of '62. A very Ui|^ and fashionable 
audience gathered to bear the new singer, and he felt that his 
future depended on his success that night After the concert 
was o\-er he was \-ery excited— did not sleep all night — got up 
early, went out, bought all the morning papers, took them back 
with him to his lodgings, and there opened them one by one 
and read his fate. The critics were warm in his praise: The 
Daily TeUgraph said : — 

** Besides a rich mellow voice, Mr. Kennedy has a pleasant 
open countenance which, accompanied b\' an alTable blandncss 
in relating the numerous anecdotes interspersed throughout 
the entertainment, at once draws his listeners to him ; and 
with these attractions it need not be said 
that on Thursday night at the above 
rooms he was listened to by a ctx^wded 
audience in those pathetic songs that 
form the staple of Scottish songs, with 
rapt attention, whilst at the humorous 
ditties the same audience laughed hearti- 
ly. It is no easy task for a vocalist to 
, excite smiles and draw tears alternately. 
-I /J- 1 . 1 1 This, however, Mr. Kennedy accom- 

\\ jy j 1 1 pitshes, and laughter holds both its sides 

L^/v* |. _ u at ' Hame came oor gudeman at e'en,' 

Q C^l^y C \i whilst Bums' ' Highland Mary ' and 

™ *■' 'Wae's me for Prince Charlie' almost 

cause tears to trickle down those cheeks 

^11 _ . .that a few minutes before were bulged 

Jl«. CAW, o»rgm4 inoi> out in boisterous glee.'' 

The Daily News said : — 

" Last night Mr. Kennedy, a gentleman new to London, 
though having a well-earned reputation in Edinbuigh, ap- 
peared at the Queen's Concert Rooms, Hanover Square. Mr. 
Kennedy makes his selections with taste and judgment, pre- 
faces the songs with as few introductory remarks as possible, 
and sings them with all the force and finish of a thoroughly 




First Appearance in London. 39 

trained musician. His face and manner are pleasing and in- 
telligent ; he has a large share of dramatic power, a good sense- 
of humour and character, and a voice that is rich and flexible. 
With these rare qualifications for the task he has undertaken,- 
it is not surprising that he was highly successful. The new- 
comer may consider that he has at once taken a secure position- 
as an illustrator of Scotch ballad." 

He gave four concerts at this time, including readings from* 
Allan Ramsay's " Gentle Shepherd " and Christopher North's- 
" Noctes Ambrosian>e," and was at once accepted as Wilson's- 



In December of the same year he was again in London, thia 
time in the Egyptian Hall, and the success of his entertain- 
ments was such that he continued them till May, '63, giving 
one hundred concerts during the season. A critique from 
The Times reads as follows : — 

" Mr. Kennedy possesses the first of all qualifications for the 
task he has undertaken — he is ' Scotch to the backbone,' 
Since John Wilson, indeed, no entertainer of the monologue 
class, more eminendy, more exclusively Scotch, has appeared 
before a London audience. Mr, Kennedy so nearly ap- 
proaches him as a characteristic delineator of Scottish 
manners, ancient and modern, through the medium of Scottish 
song and Scottish poetry, that he may be fairly styled John 
Wilson's legitimate successor. That Mr. Kennedy's entertain- 
ment is a good one, our musical readers — and especially our 
Scotch musical readers — need hardly be informed. The 
historical and analytical remarks are interesting, the anecdotes 
are humorous, well narrated and to the purpose ; and the 
melodies, if not all absolutely Scotch (as W. Chappell, did it 
fall in the way of his researches, would more or less success- 
fully establish) are at any rate genial, racy, and inspiring. On 
Monday night — besides the selections from Bums, Ayton, etc' 
including, with other genuine things, ' Scots wha hae wi' 
Wallace bled,' the words of which reflect the very spirit of 
medizval (Scottish) patriotism, and that more philosophical 
ditty, because of more universal application, — ' A man's a man 
for a' that,' — Mr. Kenn«i" introduced an entirely new feature 



■ Htn«» 9 






Hi£ pr:c£3s5c!c:al s^xs&s iz Lgo^xg inrnrrr hssi to make it 

hii Ce^'TiavrtsTs. ar^d re a^ofr r-dcrec hSs fcniiV south to be 
licar iim. He hid t:> bccak c5 hZs cz% — trrrjc with Xiccdsoo 
Strt:tt Oisrci::, to t2>e regrc: of cifnister aix! copgxegation, the 
t:,x^-XrjiL yxid^f of which {^esesiec h:n vhh an iHamiiiated 
2.ddres5 az>d a purse of soveref^r:^ He saSd good bye to the 
Cr/>ral S>c:et>% frsn: the mecibers of which he received as a 
ykTlzjg gift, a beautffiL gCt clock and a writing desk, and he 
broke up his class teaching never to resume iL 

He made many friends in London among the Scottish 
artists and others, and Sir Michael Costa, to whom he sang, 
'hhs \isry much impressed with his rendering of some c^ the 
te-,t knovi-n tenor solos from the oratorios. He strongly re- 
commended him to cultivate that branch of the vocal art, and 
made some very strong remarks on his determination to 
d<r/otc himself entirely to the singing of Scottish songs, and 
had Kennedy not believed himself bom to sing his country's 
vi/rigs, he might have been influenced by the famous conductor 
in the choice of a career. But he went on with the work he 
had begun. 

His I^^ndon season had insured his success in the south of 
England, whether he went on tour, accompanied by Mr. Land, 
and sang in all the important towns, Brighton among the 
number. After the concert there, a lady came into the artists' 
rof^m and introduced herself as Madge Robertson (now Mrs. 
Kendal;, was very warm in her praise of the evening s enter- 
tainment, and wished, she said, " to shake hands with a bom 
actor/' 

The years '63 and '64 were devoted to English and Scottish 



First Tour in America, 41 

tours, and in the winter of 1864 and 1865 we find him again in 
London, at the Music Hall, Store Street, with fresh pro- 
grammes, including readings from Scott's " Waverley," and a 
new entertainment written specially for him entitled " The 
Farmer's Ingle." 

In 1866 he proposed making a tour of the States and Canada, 
and as his accompanist Mr. Land was averse to " crossing the 
pond," he commenced training his daughter Helen for the 
work in 1865. He daily devoted hours to it, and she was 
patient and persevering, and the result was that in 1 866 she was 
able to play his accompaniments in London, at the Store 
Street Hall, and the audiences were charmed with the 
solemn earnestness of the bonntc wee lassie. 

In the summer of the same year the home was broken up, 
the bairns were sent to school, and with his eldest daughter, 
wife, and son Robert, he started for America. 

They embarked at Londonderry on a miserably wet day, the 
gloom of the weather being deepened hy the sight of hundreds 
of heart-sick Irish emigrants who, like themselves, were going 
to try their fortune in the New World. An old fiddler was 
standing playing in the rain. Just as the steamer moved oiir, 
Mr. Kennedy threw him a shilling. " Ah, God bless you," said 
the fiddler, with characteristic Irish gush ; " I knew you were 
a gentleman all the time ! !" 

He had always a fellow-feeling for the wandering minstrel 
brotherhood, and gained much knowledge of human nature 
through "crackin"' wi' a' the auld singers and fiddlers and 
tramps of every kind that he came across. The following 
instance of this is in his own words, and from the letter already 
quoted anent the book of Burns' poems : 

"A crookit, shrivelled, crackit-voiced auld mannie was singing 



42 Reminiscences of David Kennedy. 

* The Maid of Llangollen ' near our house last night. I gae 
him something, and said, * Hoo auld are ye ?' Answer, * 6y.* 

* Ah,' I said, and cocked my eye, 'youVe been going it, eh?' 
Look in answer indescribable. ' Ach ! (half a cough — recov- 
ered his breath with a wheeze — a merry gleam shot across his 
yellowish-white eyes) — Ach ! it's a' ower noo.' The recollection 
of his days of devilment had no touch of repentance — regret he 
could sin no more." 

After a fair voyage they entered the St. Lawrence on a 
beautiful Canadian summer day, landed at Quebec, and tra- 
velled on to Montreal. Here he commenced the singing to the 
Scots abroad that formed such a prominent feature in his pro- 
fessional life for the next twenty years. He never afterwards 
required professional aid outside the family circle, and this gave 
a freedom and domestic atmosphere to his life that was its chief 
charm. 

The concerts in Montreal proved a decided success, and from 
there he went to Ottawa, Kingston, Toronto, and Western 
Ontario, getting a warm welcome from all the Canadian Scots. 
In the States he visited New York, Boston, Philadelphia, 
Washington, Baltimore, Richmond, St. Louis, Cincinnati, 
Chicago, Detroit, and many smaller towns. He left no place 
of interest unvisited, for he was impelled as much by the ardour 
of the traveller as by the enterprise of the public singer. In 
the summer of 1 867 he travelled through the maritime provinces* 
and when singing in Quebec, visited the grave of John Wilson, 
who died there in 1849. ^^ caused photographs to be taken of 
the tombstone, and made arrangements that the grave should 
be tended and cared for in perpetuity. 

A letter of this period from his old friend and accompanist, 
Edward Land, may be interesting. It is dated from London. 



Friendly Advice, 43 

" 26th August, '67. 
" My Dear Kennedy, — Since receipt of your letter I have 
been so much occupied with various provincial engagements 
and conducting and arranging Sims Reeves' Ballad Concerts 
at Exeter Hall, that I have not had the opportunity of writing 
you till now. We are all greatly pleased to hear of your con- 
tinued success, and trust you will have the blessings of health 
and strength, and go on and prosper. You must indeed re- 
quire a little repose after the severe labour you have under- 
gone. Husband your resources whatever you do, for in such a 
climate a large amount of bodily strength is indispensible. I 
have reported your graphic description of the entertainment 
you gave at St Louis under stormy difficulties to many of 
your friends to their great delight and admiration. Sims 
Reeves was so delighted with what little I did for him, that he 
has induced me to accept an engagement to conduct his 
National Ballad Concert provincial tour, and specially requested 
me to play Burns' Recollections [specially arranged for playing 
at our father's concerts], and include in the programme the 
ballad I wrote for Madame Patey, 'When night is darkest^ 
dawn is nearest' . . . — Believe me, Yours sincerely, 

" Ed. Land." 

The above advice to "husband his resources" was quite 
in keeping with the attitude of the two friends to each other. 
" Land " was always advising " Kennedy " to economise his 
strength. '* Remember, Kennedy, you have to sing again to- 
morrow night," he would say, but " Kennedy " could never give 
less than his all : his motto was " Do or die." Another matter 
upon which they disagreed was the attempt at any original 
reading of the songs. Land always shook his head and said, 
" You mustn't do that, Kennedy." " Why not ?" " It has never 
been done before." "But it is in the song, is it not?" "Oh, 
yes, but it has never been done, so it won't do." The result 
was that the Kennedy of 1860-66 was a conventional singer. 
But on his very first appearance in Montreal he left the safe 
dioresofcorrventionality*" * " ""ed into the sea of originality. 
For the next twen^ the songs as he con- 



44 Reminiscences of David Kennedy, 

ceived them, hence his power. We remember an amusing story 
he used to tell on the platform, how, shortly after singing in 
Montreal for the first time, he got into conversation with an 
old Scotch lady on board a river steamer. She happened to 
mention that she had heard Kennedy in Montreal ; and when 
he informed her that he was that Kennedy, "Ah, na!*' said 
she, looking straight at him, " that canna be ; for the man 
I heard singing there was fell guid lookin'." When he at 
last convinced her, and asked her how she had liked the 
concert, she continued, " I was gae weel pleased, but I said to 
mysel* after every sang, * Eh, wadna it be grand if that man 
wad gie us the words a wee thocht braider !' " The old lady's 
remark went deeper than perhaps she thought, for it snapped 
the last tie binding him to the conventionality that Land had 
fostered. 

The following letter of the year 1868 is from his father, who 
was much interested in and proud of his success. We may 
remark that Scotch is the language of the Affections in Scotland, 
and that his father, who made a practice of speaking English, 
always wrote in the Scots dialect to his son : 

"Auchterarder, Aug. 15, '68. 
"My Dear Davie, — Whaur are ye? Hoo are ye? An' 
what are ye doin' ? A' body aboot Perth was speerin' for ye 
when I was there — speerin' when ye were comin' hame. Many 
said to me, * Man, he'll get a big house in the City Hall 
when he comes back.' I said, * Do ye think it?' * Ou, 
aye/ says they, * for a' body's wearyin' to hear him again.' * An 
he'll be hame wi' a mickle fortune,' a' body says, an' I just 
keep them the way they are goin' by saying, * It looks ver>' like 
it just now.' I am aye glad when ye say ye're thankfu' to 
God for all his goodness to you and yours. Continue so. — 
Your loving father, 

" D. Kennedy, Sen." 

His life in the States and Canada was very varied, and 



An Adventure on tlu Road. 45 

would have proved trying to any but a very strong constitu- 
tion. Travelling at all hours of the day and night, in the 
greatest extremes of climate, by boat, rail, coach, or sleigh, 
they made the tour of all the large towns in the States three 
times over, and made one exhaustive tour of the smaller towns 
of Canada. They had some adventures of a kind. The boats 
that plied for the summer traffic were frequently behind time, 
and they had to resort to many a shift in order to keep faith 
with the public Going by canal from Ottawa to Smith's 
Falls the locks proved so tedious that they had to hire a gig 
and drive across country to their destination, where they 
arrived at 815 p.m. The audience fortunately was still in 
good humour, and as the piano arrived half-an-hour later the 
programme was gone through successfully. 

One night after a concert in Dundas, Out, they had to drive 
back to the town of Hamilton, by a road leading for about 
seven miles through a lonely and hilly country. They sent 
the piano off ahead by waggon, and after supper they followed 
in a carriage. But they had not gone half way when they 
were suddenly stopped by four policemen, who spoke 
in whispers to the driver. They were naturally alarmed, 
and were none the less so when they heard that the police- 
men had been sent from Hamilton by the driver of the 
piano to warn them against a band of robbers who had stopped 
him to search the waggon, and finding nothing there, were 
waiting to plunder the rest of the party. However, tliey 
must have scented the police, for nothing more came of it 
A kindred incident occurred after singing in Moneyunk, 
Penn^lvania, some ten miles out from Philadelphia. They 
had Intended driving back to the city the same night, and the 
carriage was waiting for them after the concert, but the horses 
1 to move. After rq 3 to make them go 



46 Reminiscences of David Kennedy. 

forward, they had to give in and remain in the hotel over night 
Next morning they heard that the road to Philadelphia had 
been rendered impassable by floods, and that had the horses 
gone forward they might all have been drowned. 

These variations are more interesting in the recital than 
pleasant in the experience, but there were occasional breaks 
also in the professional routine. Twice, at least, Mr. Kennedy 
sang the tenor music of the " Messiah " for the Toronto Choral 
Society, and once in Boston, in 1867, he sang at a benefit 
concert at which Madame Parepa Rosa also sang, and Mr. 
Carl Rosa played a violin solo. Everywhere throughout the 
States he was called npon to sing "The Star Spangled 
Banner " (the American National Anthem), while his singing 
of "Scots! wha hae wi' Wallace bled," stirred equally Americans 
and Scotsmen. After he had sung it to the boys of a large public 
school in New York through which he was being shown. General 
Colpax, who was present, came forward and thanked him most 
cordially, saying, "Would to God! Mr. Kennedy, we had 
songs such as that to sing to our children !" "Ah," was the 
reply, " but we had to wait nearly 500 years after the battle of 
Bannockburn before Burns was sent to us." " Indeed ! then 
we will be quite content to wait 500 years." " But," said 
my father, " it is not certain that even then you will have 
another * Scots wha hae.' " 

He sang for the benefit of churches, for St Andrew's Societies, 
for the poor, and in New York for the funds of the Wallace 
Monument on the Abbey Craig. Everywhere he made warm 
friends, and the Scottish Societies signalized their esteem for 
him by the presentation of gold medals and handsome volumes. 
The medal prepared by the Caledonian Society of Montreal 
was of most elegant design, and enclosed the portraits of Bums, 
Scott, Campbell, Hogg, and Kennedy. The Caledonian 



Interesting Acquaintances. 4y 

Societies of New York and St. Louis did him equal honour; 
whilst the St Andrew's Societies of Toronto and Kingston 
contributed volumes of Aytoun's Lays and Bums' Poems 
respectively. One interesting memento was a silver cup in the 
shape of a bullet supported on stacked rifles, which was pre- 
sented by the officers of the 78th Highlanders in memory of a 
concert given to them by him in Montreal. His little daughter 
Helen was not forgotten on this and other occasions, the Cale- 
donian Club of Chicago having made her the gift of a gold 
watch set with diamonds and emeralds. 

In his wanderings he made many interesting acquaintances : 
in Listowell, Ontario, the brother of Dr. Livingstone ; in the 
town of Gait a sister of Hugh Miller ; and in Hamilton, one 
of Carlyle's sisters, who introduced herself and presented him 
with her brother's autt^aph. In Ottawa, Darcy M'Gee, the 
brilliant Irish-Canadian politician who soon after met such an 
unhappy fate, wrote a poem on Kennedy, one of the numerous 
tributes of enthusiasm, which, if collected, would themselves 
makea good-sized volume. One of the most interesting towns 
in the whole tour pf the States proved to be Richmond, Virginia, 
which then, in 1867, bore traces of the recent war. Here he 
met Crouch, the little-known composer of the well-known 
song " Kathleen Mavourneen." Crouch was sitting among 
the audience listening to the auld Scots sangs, and after the 
concert introduced himself in the artists' room. In the town 
of Albany, in New York State, Mr. Kennedy was asked to 
attend a certain church, that he might form an opinion of the 
singing of a young lady who led the choir there. That was 
before she went to Europe to study. Need I say that she is 
now Madame Albanl And in New York in 1867 he gave a 
lesson on the singing of Scottish songs to Miss Antoinette 
Sterling, now so well known in this country. 



48 Reminiscences of David Kennedy. 

The following letter, from Toronto, is to his old friend Mr. 
David Hay of Edinburgh, with whom two of his boys were 
boarded at school : — 

" Toronto, Ont, 22nd Nov., '68. 
" My Dear Mr. Hay, — A beautiful sunny morning, ' Oh day 
most calm most bright,' air pure, radiant — ^the lake quiet as a 
mirror, one or two distant, very distant, sails — harbour hushed 
— people well dressed going or coming from church — I am at 
home to-day although announced in the papers to sing in two 
churches — when a body gets notorious in this country every- 
thing they do is in the papers. Had a visit from three clergy- 
men yesterday, I am rather a favourite with the cloth, I know 
them pretty well — have been giving selections from Ramsay's 
" Reminiscences " lately — mostly about the clergy — brought 
down the house. When I come home Til gi'e a nicht exactly 
as I do here — it may not please a' body, it will please some. I 
am more hearty, more at home here, strange tho' it may sound 
(I mean in my public performance). ... I feel that my 
mission is more to the Scot abroad than at home. . . ." 

In the spring of 1869 he sailed from New York for Saw 
Francisco, via the Isthmus of Panama, in those days a three 
weeks* voyage. The journey is now accomplished in six days 
by rail, but the Pacific Railroad was not then quite completed. 
It was opened during his stay in San Francisco, and he was 
asked to sing "The Star-Spangled Banner" at the monster 
demonstration in celebration of the event 

Thousands were gathered in the pavillion. Mr. Kennedy 
was seated on the platform among the speakers, and the brass 
band which was to accompany the song was stationed at the 
opposite end of the building. The signal to begin was to be 
the waving of a white handkerchief. But in the crowd so 
many handkerchiefs were waved and white programmes lifted 
that the band commenced playing at the wrong time, and the 
singer, making the best of the mistake, joined in and carried it 
through triumphantly. 



Return U Scotland. 49 

After visiting other towns in California and Nevada, he made 
for Salt Lake City. Here he appeared in the Mormon Theatre, 
was invited to the house of Brigham Young, and saw much of 
the home life of the Latter-Day Saints. 

Among them he found many Scotsmen occupying prominent 
positions in the church. They ware sincere believers in their 
new faith, although in after years he met one at least, Mr. 
Stenhouse, who, becoming disillusionized, had left the church 
in bitterness of heart They warmly welcomed Kennedy in 
their midst (for, though Mormons, they were still enthusiastic 
Scotsmen), turned out to all his concerts, as did Brigham Young 
himself, entertained him in their homes, and took him, so to 
speak, into the bosom of their families. The fact is, they did 
not despair of converting him to their own creed. One clear, 
moonlight night, an enthusiastic young Mormon walked with 
him till two in the morning expounding to him the Mormon 
faith and trying to enlist his sympathy in the cause. An old 
Scotch wife, too, did her best to convince him, but it was 
labour lost He found here, as elsewhere, opportunity for the 
study of human nature. One evening, at the house of a 
Scotsman, he presented one of the three wives of his host with 
a small hand-book of Scottish Songs. " Give each of them a 
book," said a kindly mentor, tapping him on the shoulder,. 
" or there will be a row !" 

After an absence of three and a half years he returned to- 
Scotland in the autumn of 1S69, making Edinburgh his home. 
For the next three years or so he remained in the old country, 
singing i^ain in London and all the principal Scottish towns. 
He paid a flying visit to Cork in January of 1870 to assist at a 
Bonis celebration there. In whatever part of the world he 
chanced to be, Bums' birthday was always the occasion for a 
special outburst of the ptrfervidum ingtnium Scotorum, and 



50 Reminiscences of David KenTudy, 

-small and large halls alike were crowded to do honour to the 
bard. - The following list of Burns' Anniversary Concerts may 
therefore be interesting : — 



Liverpool, 


England, 


Jan. 2Sthj 


. i8S9 


Chicago, 


America, 


» 


1868 


Seaforth, 


Canada, 


ff 


1869 


Cork, 


Ireland, 


ff 


1872 


Melbourne, - 


Australia, 


9f 


1873 


Dunedin, 


New Zealand, 


» 


1874 


Launceston, - 


Tasmania, 


II 


187s 


Montreal, 


Canada, 


• 


1876 


Kilmarnock, - 


Scotland, 


>l 


1877 


Glasgow, 


Scotland, 


9f 


1878 


Glasgow, 


Scotland, 


>} 


1879 


Agra, 


India, 


W 


1880 


Edinburgh, - 


Scotland, 


l> 


1881 


New York, - 


America, 


l> 


1882 


Glasgow, 


Scotland, 


»> 


1883 


Dunedin, 


New Zealand, 


f> 


1884 


Glasgow, 


Scotland, 


» 


1885 



During the three years which followed the first American 
tour, he was perhaps more at home in Edinburgh than at any 
later period of his life. In 1871 he was present at the Scott 
-Centenary Festival in the Edinburgh Corn Exchange, and 
sang a song specially composed for the occasion — the poetry 
by James Ballantine, the music by George Croall. In the 
spring of the same year, on the occasion of the Marquis of 
Lome's marriage, he got up, by special request, a Gaelic ver- 
sion of Bonnie Prince Charlie, and sang it in the Industrial 
Museum at a conversazione given by the Edinburgh Inverness 
Ross and Nairn Club. 

When at home he sang a great deal in connection with 
Nicolson Street U.P. Church, towards which he always had 
the tender feelings of old association. He sang at many of 
their social meetings, gave a concert for the funds of the con- 



An Audience of Auld Wives. 51 

gregational library, and with the help of his family, several of 
whom he was now training to assist him in his professional 
work, he gave many concerts to the poor in the mission dis< 
trict of the Fotterrow. He did not foi^et to provide oranges 
and bags of cookies for the bairns, and tried to cheer the 
hearts of the auld wives by speaking to them from the heart 
in a familiar friendly way. He said there was no audience to 
equal one composed mainly of auld wives, so quickly sympa- 
thetic, so keenly appreciative, and so experienced in the varied 
feelings of the heart 



52 Reminiscences of David Kennedy. 



Chapter III.— Tour Round the WhrUL 

In the spring of 1872 he again said good-bye to his native land,, 
and started on the four years* tour round the world, the events 
of which are fully detailed in the narrative of his travels which 
follows this, written by his eldest son David, who is since dead. 
He was accompanied by his wife, his daughters Helen and 
Marjory, and his two sons David and James, Robert joining 
the party about a year later. Some of his letters to his father 
and others are all we need here add to the record of those 
years of travel. After staying in Melbourne for three months,, 
and singing every night to enthusiastic audiences, he started 
"doing" the country with a coach, a "buggy," and three 
saddle horses, there being few railways in Australia in those 
days. The following letters written "on the road" will ex- 
plain themselves : — 

"Benalla, 21st March, '73. 

" Dear Father, — Here we are away in * the bush' and na 
mistake — lose our way every day — wander about seeking 
tracks^-driving over and through trees, holes dry, holes full of 
water, up hills, down hills — twisting ourselves through the 
bushes — losing each other for miles — crying and shouting, 
'Where's Helen?* * Where's Madge?' *Has anybody seen 
David or James ? ' — Yells responsive through bush and ferns, a 
crackle and a crash, and lo ! the lost one appears. We have 
had two or three smashes and two horses have tired out and 
gone to grass. Our agent is in Sydney, and for weeks our line 
of travel is marked, and come what may we must get through. 
Don't be afraid of us, we are careful and have a good driver. 
Houses [audiences] very good — all is sunshine in our profes- 
sional path. Robert will be here in a month and then what a 
party of Kennedys sae far frae hame. I'm glad to hear you 



Letters from. Australia. 53 

are so well, I think ye'll be ane o' the lang-lived Kennedys. I 
pray you may hear us a' singing afore ye once mora God be 
with us a". — ^Your afTectionate son, 

" David Kennedy," 

"Ipswich, 3rd September, 1873. 
" My Dear Father and Sister Kitty,— We are behind 
hand with the letters from home, your letters will reach us in a 
•day or two — too late for answer now. So Gamsis you are 
weel again, tak guid care o' yer set' and have every comfort 
bawbees can buy. We are all going on each in our own 
sphere with as much smoothness as human machinery will 
aJIow. The distances here are very great, the mountains are 
high, the roads are bad ; our limbs are strong, so also our will, 
and we do overcome whatever difficulties are in our way. We 
find Scots people everywhere, and I am now fully aware of the 
importance of our mission here, and consequently exacting on 
myself and all the others for a high standard of perforniance. 

My own performance I know is intensely in earnest and hits 
the public Amid the very large expenses there's money 
making, and while we live well and are liberal in all things, 
there's not one penny spent that we regret God is good to us 
and we must help those He throws in our way that need help. 



" Your aff. Son and Brother, 

" D, Kennedy." 

" Murrurundi, New South Wales, 
[Autumn] '73. 
"Dear Father, — Here we are once more in sight of a 
railway — what journeyings we have had — the bairns will have 
given you all flie news. We are all in the very best health 
and doing our duty in a persevering way — there is progress 
every way ; we sing nearly every Sunday in the Presbyterian 
Kirks here, and do good by letting them hear psalm-singing 
done as it should be. The clergy everywhere give us their 
countenance. So you are in Perth and the Kirkton. I rejoice 
to see ye 'knappin' aboot, you have a large share in our 
success, and we are giving you more justice now that we are 
far frae ye than when near at hand. Just go on enjoying 
yourself, and have perfect confidence that we are combining 
strict economy with Christian liberality." 



54 Reminiscences of David Kennedy, 

Having spent the years 1872 and 1873 ^^ travelling through 
Victoria, New South Wales, and Queensland, he left in 
December 1873 for New Zealand. He had been everywhere 
received with open arms and f(&ted in the larger towns. Out 
of his great success he gave everywhere with "Christian 
liberality" to the charitable institutions ; and the Scots, feeling 
that he by his generosity did honour to them as Scotsmen, 
were not slow in doing honour to him. In Melbourne, a 
complimentary soiree was given to ** Kennedy," and the young 
folks were presented with handsome souvenirs of their visit 
to the city. In Sydney and Brisbane a similar compliment 
was paid him, and all over the country he enjoyed the private 
kindness and hospitality of worthy and successful Scots. 

The following letter written from Melbourne just before 
leaving for New Zealand is to his bairns and to their teacher 
Mr. Hay, with whom six of them were boarded during this 
tour : — 

"Melbourne, 4th December, 1873. 

" My Dear Mr. Hay and Dear Bairns— So ye're begun 
to anither year's schulin — aha — Charlie, what a capitally com- 
posed and most capitally written journal of your journey to 
London ! ! ! I am proud of it And Kitty so correct and 
kindly, and Lizzie so pithy and practical, and Maggie and 
Johnnie and Cuthie Wow ! 1 God bless ye a*. How feeling 
and memory bridge space. I see ye a' and kiss ye now. Ah I 
sweet the pain even of being divided when we know the Father 
in Heaven is caring for us — most, maybe, for the youngest 



And then, speaking about kirks and preaching : — 

"Nothing will make up for the want of heart Neither 
grace nor gerse (grass) will grow without warmth. I really 
now place heaven-born zeal above mere talent — earnest men, 
though somewhat commonplace, do more than polished, clever, 
cold brains. ' Give me thine heart,' is the cry of God and man. 



Letters from New Zealand. 55 

I have starved the last two months for all that man can do or 
rather has done. We have had coldness and commonplace — 
ouch, awful. Thank God we have the Word, so can never 
really starve. 

" David has most certainly made a hit with his papers ; he 
spares no pains, and has the benefit of abundant criticism ; he 
really deserves praise, and he gets it. 

"We have had a most laborious year — perhaps the most 
laborious we ever can have. We all enjoy rest — so sweet, &o 



" Goodby, master and pupils, fnend and bairns, 
" Yours most sincerely, 

" D. Kennedy." 

Arrived in Otago he wrote : — 

" Dunedin, N.Z,, 24th December, '73. 
"My Dear Father, — Here we are at last in the Edinburgh, 
of the south. Many, many Scots folk here, and more Scotsmen 
than in Edinburgh in proportion to population. Breezy, airy, 
billy, busy — well-off — contented — plenty of kirks — no squalid, 
ragged people. It is not old enough to show rottenness. The 
misery is Uiat rottenness will surely come. What is man? 
We will be here for one month, then off to other towns. This 
is the freshest, most hopeful place we have seen in all the 
world. . . ." 

" Balclutha, Otago, N.Z., 3rd Feb., ';4- 
"Dear Father, — Got your letter with advice no to send 

money to . Well, we'll see. The blessing of success is 

falling on us still, so we must weigh our duties with this in the 
balance. A man died a few weeks ago and left nearly three 
millions ; was never known to do a generous action, and died 
amidst the indifference of men and the anger of God. 
God keep us a' frae aye thinking about siller ; it is a sin very 
easy to fall into, it is so resfxictable and so damning. It is the 
god of the Colonies. New Zealand is a splendid countrj-. We 
meet no end of Perth folk. Every living soul is well of!! Sang 
in the kirk on Sabbath. The clergy here are fairly paid, no 
more. Climate requires strong people, but a'body has the look 
of robust health. I hear you are in first-rate order. God be 



^r 



^ zn"^ j^rcxtLTi. 



"^ ^rxszsi'jv-z^ X-T Zja'.fcnr- :f(± Frfk, 1874. 

• My UiXjl MS- HaV. — I sa5i in irv Issc b=rr5ed note that 
I •vj::'A X "JJlz^ -zysL -vjzLt zs^ £" :r fri a yocr fimd for 
kfriC wctcns:^:. -r ctbsr rtli^ocs rcriose;. yzc have in hand. 
I Vvcld hiiT* 3*id trlf s:>:cjer. bet trrsrc arr nary aixl pucssing 

a ctbc — tbsre is & rcli^:u5 =1155:1- :r tiK Xer H^xides — no 
cr-^ cf bvspctals, bErri-rr-Ient lzs±zz.rLzc^ — tzrsds for accidents — 
f-.r =h:p-arreck= — »s tr^t -are La-.-e ^I-tki a-xay a tenth of our 
earr:r.?- b::t iti'-l, niv dear frifcf, vz-c will center a favoar on 
rr-* if vo- let n:c kiio^ arv case -^rz^n can recociinend, and we 
w:'l r.nd a pound or r.%-a f;r i- . . . Xow. \x bairns of the 
name of Kenr.edv. 'R^e tliink that, en ie whole, ve are doin' 
rale -AeeL . . . Kfttv, we have the imc'ression that \x>u arc 
a r: j:et, u^-tfjl. unpreter:t;ouf, patient lassie — that you will be, 
rria/i>e are^ a rea". blessing to a" that are around \"e. Is this 
impression correct? We have no co'jbt it is, bonnie« good, 
kind;/ Kittie. Lizzie, your mithers namesake, are \-e like your 
fnither in anything but the name? We picture a sharp, quick, 
keen, somewhat contentious, short-tempered, \i*ann-hearted, 
capable scholar — practical, shrewd, given to bre\-it\" in letters 
^.ikc your faither^ — to the point On the whole, if }"Ou do Mr. 
Ila/s biddin', ye'Il be a grand'scholar and a tidy lass. Maggie, 
what will ye be ? Wc can hard!y say what like we think yc 
In your picture you seem getting mere intelligent. Be kind to 
Johnnie, you have charge o' him, ye ken ; and above all things, 
do what Sir, Hay tells you, as the only way to learn quickly is 
to do everything at the time and in the way the master tells 
ye. Arc ye to be a singer ? John, once a babbling babe, now, 
aha ! a sturdy scholar, able to spell ' long-nebbit ' words, to 
write letters, to read the Bible, to play and no be noisy, make 
fun and no be troublesome. We'll mavbe see America the- 
gither again. And lastly, bonnie Jessie — Mr. Hay's wifie — hoo 
arc yc? — able to mak* and sup parritch, kail, and tea? A* 
h^KiSc wives can do that, ye ken. Hope your dolls are a* pro- 
IK;rIy clad in the cauld weather. Keep your hair tidy, your 
face clean, and aye be freens wi' Mr. Hay. — Dinner sounds and 
smells arrest my ears and nose, so I leave off where I began, 
with love to all. — Your loving father, 

"David Kennedy." 



The next is to his father, the last he ever wrote to him : — 



His Father's Death, S7 

"Queenstown, N.Z., i6th Feb., 1874. 
" Dear Father, — Here we are in the most beautiful scene 
imaginable — fine air, good hotel, every comfort, all in good 
health. ... I met the son of an old London acquaintance, 
a curate on less than £i<x> a year. His father forced me to 
take a loan of ^f 20 in '62. I paid him in '63. I lent his son, 
. this poor curate, £,20 for ever. . . . Crichton, my old 
skulemaster, is dead. I mourn his loss and thank his memory. 
Good-bye I good-bye ! I am reading and most thoroughly 
enjoying Hanna's ' Life of Christ' — Your affectionate son, 

"D. KENNEDY." 

The answer to this letter was that his father was dead. It 
was a terrible shock to him. He had always had a boyish 
delight in striving to make his father proud of him, and the joy 
of success was doubled in sharing it with his coldly dignified 
&.ther. His mother had died before he left his native town. 
In a letter to his sister he writes : — 

" I shall never see my father in the flesh ! it is awfuL How 
I had bound round him a great band of joys, how I should let 
him see and hear the young folks, how the friends at the Hutt 
spoke of him, what the world was like and how man was 
thriving in the new world. I really thought he would have 
been spared till we got home. Be sure of my love and above 
all look on our Father in heaven as the God of Love. I some- 
times forget this and am sad and very impatient" 

And again : — 

" I wish I were hame — saw my father's empty chair — had a 
Stone over his grave, and buried some of my sorrow." 

To a friend he wrote : — 

"Auckland, New Zealand, 6th June, 1874. 
"My Dear, . . .—Father dead, dead, dead, dead. I 
could write the word a hundred times and not feel its full 
import — never to see my father again, never — one of the 
bright hopes of my home-coming was to show my father some 
results of his labours — labours I now realize — the importance of 
d 



5 8 Refniniscences of David Kennedy. 

these labours I did not till lately — reflection on all this is that 
we do not live close enough to each other — the nearest and 
dearest hardly ever trust themselves altogether — the heart 
always has more to say than tongue can tell, or at least does 
tell — a shadow deep and gloomy has pressed on me for a 
month. Father dead — Lizzie away, she is God's best gift to 
me — a father gone is a new sorrow to me, a void that can not 
be filled — a strange sense of increased responsibility — I feel as 
if I had more business in the world, more charge of it ; so we 
have our sacred spot in the Grange [cemetery]. Well, my 
dear frien, I have many things in common with you, would I 
were sure I had your godliness. I am sorely troubled with 
name and fame and bairns and bawbees. . . Lizzie is the 
only real idol I have 'twixt me and heaven. I think I like her 
for her goodness — such a good idol I have. .,..*' 

His wife had left him shortly before and was travelling to 
Scotland via America to see her little ones. After spending a 
few weeks with them she returned to Australia, sailing round 
the Cape, and rejoined the party after seven months absence, 
having gone round the world alone. 

From Auckland he returned southwards, and at Wanganui 
on the West Coast, was most enthusiastically received at the 
opening concert On the following morning, as he was 
strolling in the outskirts of the town, he met a grave-looking 
man, who addressed him in the Scots accent. " I was hearin* 
ye last nicht, Mr. Kennedy," he said, " an* I was gey weel 
pleased " (Scotsmen are economical even of their words of 
praise) " but I wasna satisfied wi' that song ye sang, * The Land 
o* the Leal,' for ye didna state the auld man's grounds of 
assurance that he wad meet his wife in Heaven !" Amazed at 
this theological criticism of one of the most beautiful songs in 
the language he returned to town and mentioned the incident 
to some friends, " Oh, that man's daft " said they, and he was 
relieved to hear it 

The New Zealand tour finished, he spent two pleasant 



months in Tasmania, and from there the folIowiRg letter is 
dated :— 

" Launceston, Tasmania, z6th Jan, 7S- 
" My Dear Mr. Hay, — Another year — nearly three since I 
saw ye a'. Oh, dear, I begin to feel home sickness, but our 
£aces will be set for home about May, then every step will be 
Edinburgh- wards. ' My heart is sair ' — how words come out 
in their full meaning as experience grows upon us (what a dic- 
tionary experience is I) My news are all told by my young 
folks, who are becoming day by day more useful to me in 
everything. . But I am losing all the youth of my bairns at 
home, I long for babies — for wee lassies and laddies. . . 
now Charlie, Kitty and Lizzie, put on a spurt in things 
musical. I will need all your help when we come home and 
perhaps wee Maggie too 111 and who knows in time "Weckus" 
and Jessie may help their auld faither — auld — it is coming fast, 
and I feel down in the mouth sometimes, as if I had any right 
to expect to escape the universal lot — age — decay — death — 
meanwhile let us rejoice in God's goodness. What a scrawl, 
my pen took the bit between its teeth and ran away. . . 

Travelling in Tasmania, as in the sister colonies, was done 
mainly by coach, and in driving across country between Hobart 
and Launceston, and following his usual custom of "crackin' wi' 
a' body," he fell in with some interesting characters. He easily 
gained the confidence of strangers, and either held them with 
his own conversation or got from them snatches of their life 
experience. At the railway stations in Scotland, where he was 
usually found fifteen or twenty minutes before train time, it 
was no uncommon thing to see him seated on a barrow enter- 
taining a semicircle of delighted railway porters, their faces lit 
op with interest in his "crack" and their eyes all fixed on his. 

And so in Tasmania, where garrulous old men with a story 
to tell were not few, he heard many a queer tale, such as the 
following, which is given in the words of our brother David, the 
(iimily chronicler. 



6o Reminiscences of David Kennedy. 

One night the hotel was so noisy that my father could 
not sleep, and this prompted him to rise at the early hour 
of five, long before the rest of us were awake, and to 
walk on ahead. We did not overtake him until we had 
travelled half-way, about fourteen miles, and found that he had 
rested and breakfasted at a wayside inn. He related that 
while going along he had heard the bark of a dog, and looking 
on one side saw the animal keeping watch over a man lying 
sleeping by the roadside, with his feet in a ditch. The fellow 
was blind, evidently a tramp, and somewhat ragged and rickety 
in appearance. The barking of his faithful companion woke 
him instantly. 

** Eh — what — how — who's that ? " My father informed him 
who he was. ** Ech, gosh ! ye're a Scotchman then 1 " 
. " Yes, and you're Scotch too." 

" Michty ! ye're richt there," exclaimed the blind man ; " am 

frae K a* the way — am no fifty-seven year auld, an' lost 

my e'e-sicht six year syne in an accident at the making o' the 
railway." 

" Where did you sleep last night ? " 

** Oh, I just lay doon on the stanes o' a pavement — man it 
was cauld. The nicht afore, I was lying in the bush, an' when 
I got up I forgot the place whaur I'd been sleepin*, so I lost 
ane o' my boots — a big ane I had for my left fut" 

" Have you been long out in this country?" 

" Lang ! dae ye ken what I am ? I'm a ten-yearer — Lord 

K lagged me, an' I'll just tell ye hoo that wiz — but we 

maun be gangin'. Man, I was a swank, soople chiel when I 
was young. A big family there was o' us — twenty-wan used 
to sit doon at oor table thegither. Weel, I fell in wi' a lass 

servin' at Lord K 's, but her faither wadna hae me, so I 

said I wad gang awa', an' I listed in the Lancers. Weel, a letter 



A Convicts Story. 6i 

Cam* saying that if I was to see my faither livin' I wad hae to 
come bame at aince, for he was ta'en ill — so, after some trouble, 
I got back to Scotland again. My mither fell into my atrms — 
an' how prood they a' were to see me in my blue uniform an' 
sword. My faither got better, an' I went to the castle, whaur 
Jess my sweetheart was, an' the folk there keepit me for days. 
It was arranged that we twa should get married, an' married 

we were. Lord K bocht me oot o' the sodgers an' made 

Die his coachman, so I was as comfortable as I could wish." 

Here the blind man became less loquacious. 

"Ae day," said he, "when I was dustin' my maister's coat, a 
roll o' notes as big as my fist, look, fell oot o' ane o' the pockets. 
I took it up, an' I felt the edges o' the notes, sae crisp an' 
temptin*. Man, it was awfu' temptin'. I got on the fuddle 

then, an' Lord K gae me my dischairge, for he saw I was 

spcndin' mair money than I could hae frae him. It was an 
awfu' jollification, for there was mair than four hunder pounds 
o't, ye ken." 

He said this in a bragging, "deil-ma-care" kind of way. 
Then came the pitiable ending of his story, 

"After a while the money was missed, an' I was put in 
the jail. I was tried, an' got ten years. Man, there's real 
decent justice in Scotland — in England it wad hae been for 
life. They shipped me ower the seas to Van Diemen's Land ; 
an' I've spent mony happy days in this pairt o' the world, I 
was happy as lang as I was a ticket-o'-leave, but as soon as I 
was a free man my troubles began, an' I fell doon in the world. 
But I keep up my heart — my dog an' me gets ae meal a day, 
an' we're as jolly as ye can think. I'm afT noo to the shearin' 
at Launceston." 

** How far is it to the half-way bouse ? " asked my father. 

"Twa mile," promptly replied the blind man ; but on reach- 



62 Reminiscences of David Kennedy, 

ing the place he gave a start and said, in a tone of injured self- 
respect, " Why, it was only ae mile ; I've lost coont durin' the 
fine crack we hae hane thegither." 

At the inn, my father gave him a substantial meal, followed 
by a glass of Tasmanian ale, and saw the last of him as he 
trudged away up the road led by his faithful dog. 

The Tasmanian tour finished, he went to South Australia ; 
and after giving farewell concerts in Melbourne and Sydney, 
he left in June, 1875, for California, taking an eastward way 
round the world. Arrived at San Francisco after a somewhat 
perilous voyage, he crossed the continent by way of Salt Lake 
City, Omaha, and Chicago, and entered Canada by Detroit. 
We quote again from our father's letters : — 

"Gait, 9th December, 1885. 

"My Dear . . . — Here is the most Scottish part of 
Canada. We had a big house last night Had to sing big and 
feel pumped out a wee, but rest — a brisk walk among the snaw 
— a good dinner — some fun wi' the bairns here — a glance at the 
papers — half-an-hour's guid thinking — shave — gently walk to 
the hall at twenty minutes to eight — comb hair — get gloves 
neatly on — ^speer at Helen and Marjory if my tie is richt — blow 
my nose — say once ! twice ! thrice ! as the clock strikes the 
hour, and step on the platform and blaze away for twa hours. 
Grand snaw-baws ; the laddies and me^ think o' that, have 
grand bickers — they whiles knock off my hat ! . . ." 

Another — 

" Woodbridge, 9th January, ^76. 

"My Dear . . . — 1876!! Another year! the fourth since I 
saw ye!! I saw ye first at the close of '56, nearly twenty years 
ago. Your life has moved on with quiet effective smoothness. 
. . . My life, how varied, exacting, and dangerous ! Thanks 
be to Him who guides all things, how successful in many ways! 
How much left personally to lament! The tension of mind 
and body has been enormous, and I feel myself deficient in that 
calm contemplative frame of mind in which only we can enjoy 
that supreme delight, communion with God. How elevating, 
ennobling to walk with God ! How paltry appear our usual 



Singing for a Royalty, 63 

pursuits, and the appalling danger is that if these paltry pur- 
suits have control long enough, they shut out God from the 
heart, and kill the capacity called heavenly mindedness. A 
man may commit no visible sin, and yet be lost The god of 
this world is most dangerous when most respectable. We go 
to church regularly, and do our outward duty, and, I believe, 
strive to do our spiritual duty. But, oh ! we are so tired, 
deadened. I do believe that a Holy Sabbath can only be 
thoroughly enjoyed after a Saturday of comparative rest We 
have sung in many churches during the last two months, but 
Monday morning found us weary. The people would not sing, 
just sat and listened, and so we had all the solitariness of public 
performance, breeding in us a feeling of display out of tune 
with worship. There is no doubt we did good in so far as 
many people got a new idea of style and harmony of psalm 
singing, and the clergymen expressed themselves deeply 
obliged. I would rest on the Saturday night, but our folks 
would rather sing than sit moping in a wee hotel with nobody 
to speak to — so on we go with the light ahead growing bigger 
and warmer every day that passes — the light of hope that we 
may all meet again. . . ." 

After singing in nearly all the Canadian towns, and spend- 
ing a memorable fortnight in Newfoundland, he sailed ' for 
home, in July, i87(S, having been on tour for over (our years. 
The home-coming had been long looked forward to, and for 
three months he gladly rested in Edinbui^h. His holiday 
was spent in making plans for the future, and in studying his 
favourite subject, and he was fortunate enough to successfully 
unearth some mair auld sangs. The following letter to some 
London publishers, very intimate friends of his, is interesting, 
as expressing his feeling in regard to singing songs for a 
royalty or commission on the sales : — 

" Mv Dear FreenS, — Here I sit in dust and ashes mourn- 
ing my growing habit of procrastination. Oh ! Oh ! Oh 1 
^Vhat is man he will not do what he knows to be right. Really 
my boys do all the writing, and I have fallen into an intoler- 
able custom of letting them do everything. . . , 

" I once, for I think two weeks, sang a song for a royalty. 



64 Reininiscefues of David Kennedy. 

and I vowed I would on no account do it again — my whole 
soul and body rose up in positive disgust I don't think I 
would or could have sung 'Scots wha hae' for Bums in 
the flesh for sae muckle a copy — mind I don't say posi- 
tively that it is wrong — but I canna do't My dear 
freens, ye'U no be angry — but as sure's death I wad do 
as muckle for you as I would for any human being, but 
cremate me if I can somehow even write about it with- 
out a certain feeling of aversion. I would not sing even 
a psalm I did not like ; I am sure it would not please 
Heaven to hear music and no heart in it Therefore 
my joes, try and look at it from my point of view, I can not 
look at it from yours, as I never made (and don't believe I 
could) a sang or a tune a' my days. 

" Now no nonsense about great this and great that as r^^ds 
me — I am as I am — with many weak points, points no study 
and no effort will make strong, but with other points (made hy 
my Maker) that even carelessness would scarce destroy. I 
feel I have power only (and no more) when my heart gaes wi' 
my subject, and to be paid for a certain song turns my heart 
from it, and the song does not get justice." 

He remarks in the above letter that he never made a sang or 
a tune. But he mended many. The popular ballad of "Willie 's 
gane to Melville Castle " owed its introduction to public favour 
to the joint efforts of Land and Kennedy, the former editing 
the music, the latter the words. He also wrote an extra verse 
to the old ballad, " Get up and bar the door O," the second 
verse of the following : — 

Bye there cam twa genllemen 
At Iwal □' clock at nicht □', 

An' ibe; could neither see hooie oor h>' 
Nor coal, noi candle licht a'. 

They were hungry, cauld and weet. 
For it was an awru nicht o'. 

When yonder stood ihe open doot 
Their hearts lap at the sicht o'. 

And M'Neil's clever song 




*' Jenny dang the Weaver," received the two following verses 
from his pen : — 

The Itdi an' lasses roond abooE 

At Jockey they were jeerin ; 
Iiuich i>ii, says he, yell iiiae find oot 

111 get Iter foi the speerin. 
He sleppit op to Jenny's side 

Ad' eockit up his beaver, 
Sae la' o' *elf conceit an' pride 

He thocbt she'd talt a weaver. 



As Jockey stood, maist like [ae greet, 

Anld Maggie cam' tae cheer bim ; 
Gae kiss, an' clap, an' ca' her iveet, 

Ye'll get her, never fear, man. 
Na, na, quo Jock, I'm aff wi' love. 

My milbet I'll ne'er leave her, 
Hy beait's a itane nae laas can move, 

111 dee a ungle weaver. 

But his contribution to the song literature of Scotland was in 
interpretation, not addition. Of what the Scottish songs were- 
to him he writes in the following letter to Mr. W. Henderson^ 
of London, a mutual friend of himself and Templeton : — 

" 8 St. Andrew's Terrace, i ith Nov., '76. 
" My Dear FrEEN, — Rejoiced at Templeton's keeping me 
in mind. I devoutly hope we will be a' spared till June, whea 
we will hae a crack. Scottish vocalists everywhere. It's no 
easy task to grasp and sing a" kinds o' Scots sangs. Few ever 
can hope to do it, but somebody will aye do it unto eternity. 
Man, they are the stuff to feed on. I feel my moral and spiritual 
nature strengthened by their study. Full of them I feel myself 
majestic But the usual amateur, who sniffs music from afar, 
cannot hear the music at his side ; and his dramatic compre- 
hension nil or limited, he thinks a man daft who is enthusiastic, 
or vulgar who faithfully realizes common life — the only life that 
is real, and therefore dramatic Thank God for common life — 
love of man — of woman — of wife — of bairns — of light and air 
— for food and clothing — for freenly crack and joyous wedding. 



66 Reminiscences of David Kennedy, 

— ay, for the gushing tears that meet the flowers on a father's 
grave. Conventionality has slain thousands of immortal soul& 
Tied up in rules, in the way anither man did it, the timid 
born artist in colour or sound lives in doubt and dies in despair. 
Dare ! dare ! dare ! — ^wisely dare — be judiciously brave — follow 
the light of heaven given to all men — vividly to those who can 
live in every human heart, know its secrets, and make the song 
or sing the song that gladdens all mankind. Prodigious I 
What a ' spate ' o' words ! . . ." 

In the winter of 1876 he sang in Scotland ; in the spring of 
1877 visited the north of Ireland ; in the summer paid his 
jsecond visit to the Orkney Islands ; and in the autumn gave 
a season at the g^eat St James Hall, London. 

Writing about the preparations for his London season, he 
•says — 

'' We cannot hoist our flag on a sma' wa'. I like big halls, 
one seems to expand body and soul. We mean to have a long 
and deliberate sing in the great toon. Til never be able to 
sing better, and the young folks are no to be sneezed at — indeed 
some folks prefer them to the auld man — the auld man is in 
for a good deal of adverse criticism, for he has definite ideas, 
and will develope them to the pleasure of many and the dis- 
gust of others. I am a wee Irvingish — I must do as I feel is 
right tho' I have no precedent for it God surely does not 
make men as they make bricks — a' ae '00' — nae doubt *but 
some with vision keener,' deeper, some with invention, others 
with imitation ; some to say, * This is the way,' others to follow. 
The press of Scotland is warm. Some have said * over-realistic * 

— that's the point where R will be down on me I know, and 

rightly perhaps^ — it is hard to get all out of a song and not get 
too much^ — I know it — . . . ." 

The St James* Hall was originally taken for twelve nights, 
but the success of the concerts was such that the season was 
-extended to fifteen. When Ambrose Austin told Sims Reeves 
that Kennedy had taken the Hall for twelve nights on his own 
risk, Reeves remarked that " Kennedy was a very plucky 



At the Cape. 67 

fellow," and only those who know the risks of London concert- 
giving know how true that was. But had he not dared, he had 
tierer done anything. He dared to throw up his business in 
Perth in 1857; he dared to give a long series of concerts in 
London unaided in 1862-1863 ; he dared to cut himself adrift 
.and go out to America in 1866 with very little in his pocket 
■and nothing in the bank ; he dared to go out to Australia in 
1872 and travel through country and over roads that the 
■colonists themselves were afraid of; and as in great things so 
in small 

After the London season he made a tour of all the larger 

English towns, including Manchester, Liverpool, Hull, 

Birmingham, Nottingham, Leeds, Bradford, Newcastle, 

• Sunderland, and many others in the middle and northern 

•districts. 

In 1878 he gave another long season in London, and after 
■another tour through Scotland and the north of Ireland, he 
started in the spring of 1879 for a tour of South Africa He 
was accompanied only by his son David and two daughters, 
Marjory and Lizzie. Robert and James had been sent to 
Italy to pursue vocal studies there. 

The tale of the Cape Tour, one of the most interesting of 
our travelling experiences, is fully told by our brother David 
{who afterwards resided in Natal for some years). On our 
way to the Diamond Fields we had to pass through the 
Orange Free State, and so came much into contact with the 
Boers. It was delightful to watch our father conversing with 
them in the language of gesture and expression, lighting up 
the faces of the sober old Dutch women with his humour. 
The rule being to sing everywhere en route, concerts were 
given in the Free State, and the Dutch came in large numbers 
and enjc^ed "Twa Hours at Hame" in spite of the foreign 



68 Re^niniscences of David Kennedy, 

language. (Even deaf and dumb institutions have shown their 
appreciation.) In Natal, as in the other colonies, he was 
warmly welcomed, and the Scotsmen there presented him with 
a heavy ring of African gold set with three large African 
diamonds. 

Only ten days after his return from the Cape he started 
again, bound this time for India, and accompanied by his wife^ 
two daughters, Helen and Lizzie, and his son David. Robert 
and James remained in Italy, and were there joined \y 
Marjory. 

The following letters were written en route : — 

"Malta, lOthOct, '79. 

" Dear Hame Bairns, — Mother and me hope ye're a' wed 
and back to the skule. Beautiful place, Malta — beautiful sea 
— fine weather — fine ship — in short, a' things fine. Mother 
wants her flooers watered, and the cat ta'en care o', an' the 
birdie. Ship's sloppy. Letter maun close. — ^Your aifft. papa 
and mamma." 

"Suez, 1 6th Oct, 1879. 

" Dear Bairns, — Through the Canal, a mighty work. Life 
on shipboard perfect in its way. I am so lazy that I do not 
even think much. I read all kinds of books — library kept by 
officers. Climate, oh how beautiful even to us fresh from the 
Cape — it seems paradise. When this country is governed by 
liberty as now by despotism, it will be a garden of the Lord. 
My curse on all forms of tyranny and our Government on the 
side of tyranny — but not for long — not for long. Heaven be 
on the Gladstone side. The people on board — returning 
Indians — are of course Tory with a vengeance. Colonists as a 
rule know as little of home politics as home people know of 
Colonial politics. Few people know or care for anything be- 
yond a few yards of themselves. Cultivate a habit of starting 
all matters from fixed principles. . . ." 

The heat in Calcutta in November proved very oppressive, 
and he suffered from it severely, being one night completely 



Letters from India. 69 

prostrate with fever, and unable to sing. His letters from 
India are graphic, ttiougti brief : — 

" Calcutta, 28th Nov., '79. 
"Dear Bairns at Hame,— . . , . Hech ! a' thing's het 
here — if 3 no joke singing ' Scots ! wha hae ' in a shower of per- 
spiration. The people here come out night after night till we 
ken them by headmark. Mosquitoes wheeling round my pow 
— 20 bites on my hands, mair on my face — I kill one now and 
then with intense delight Weather getting cool — the cauld is 
het What a crowd of human beings are here struggling for 
life, and living on very little — claes are not a very heavy 
element in expense or quantity, Twa or three yards o' tup- 
penny-happenny cotton is a' the dress o' the men ; we scarcely 
ever see a woman. We will have your letters here to-morrow. 
I iong for them as water to a thirsty soul. . . ." 

" Calcutta, 28th Nov., 'j^ 
"Dear Milan BAIRNS,^Hale be your hearts,— strong 
your love for art — vast your capacity for receiving instruction 
— keen your digestion of knowledge, and above all or including 
all enjoy the passing hour, make it the happiest hour of your 
life. Hech I I hae ha'en a time o't — not one well moment 
since I landed — singing thro' fever, sore throat, indigestion, in- 
flammation, and as mony ailments as ye choose to pin on. 
Mother also no up to the mark. Praise be blest we are now 
toddlin' about ' fell knappie.' The performance fully up to 
the mark, and the people place us far away up among Indian 
amusements. . . . Complete knowledge of the voice must 
be your primary aim — only 1 must admit an occasional sing is 
essential to the testing of educational progress. I hope you 
will all take the best teaching you can get . . . It is near 
dinner time — the craws and kites are gathering round the 
vestibule, the noiseless Bengali glides about with dishes, etc — 
the inner man sends word — 'vacuum.' Good bye ye eager 
students — good health — clear consciences — educated and 
healthy throats — a' lubricated with father's love and mother's 
blessing." 

He was iAtensely interested in and anxious about the 
musical education of his sons and daughters. He encouraged 



70 Reminiscences of David Kennedy. 

them when despondent, spared no expense on their tuition^ 
and wrote them .long letters of kindly counsel, from which we 
quote : — 

" Whatever you acquire from teachers, don't lose what you 
have got from heaven." 

"Thicken your piano singing; broaden without breaking' 
your declamation." 

" Practice various ways of singing same passage." 

"Avoid monotony; let your emotional nature colour 5rour 
voice ; practice the passions vocally." 

" Do get a doze from Lamperti. Suck the marrow out of all 
the Italian maestros. Don't go in much for C sharps Bob. 
While you exalt your glorious notes, make the rough places 
plaint 

" Wait patiently for fruit Legato most of all essential to 
fluid Scots sangs." 

" Keep your lives sunny." 

" I would hae sic a study amang auld Scots sangs." 

" Except ye be as little children, ye shall not enter the King- 
dom of Heaven nor of Art" 

" Learn to use your voice. Sit at anybody's feet Delight 
yourself in finding out your failings. Try, try, try again. I 
know the temptation to rush at the result without waiting on 
the means, for I did it myself, and that's the reason I want you 
to hasten slowly." 

"I did not know the value of Solfeggi, and did not know how 
to do it I feel the want of it now when the voice will not do 
the will of the singer. Sow, sow, sow I reap, reap, reap !" 

" At critical moments of our lives we never do our best I 
never did. As to who should be your master I cannot say. 
Learn all good music you can. Keep at the auld Scots sangs: 
they'll come in for your good some day. Read music at sight 
day and night — master it, think on't, dream on't" 

The life in India was trying ; indeed, it undermined his con- 
stitution, and he never afterwards was in the full enjoyment of 
health and strength. Still he never gave in. 

A few more letters will suffice for the Indian tour : — 



In Italy. 71 

"Jamalapore, loth Dec, 1879. 
" Dear Hame Bairns,— What a grand letter frae Kate — 
'cantie Kate," 'cautious Kate,' slightly 'circuitous Kate' — 
happy Kate at hame amang dirty weather, but stilt at hame — 
Oh, hame, hoo I love ye ! We'll soon be hame, 4th or sth o' 
May, but mony a mile (11,000) before we see ye, and mony 
breekless loons will pass by without our noticing tiieir want o' 
claes. How soon anything gets common save love. Love o' 
ye a' — love o' music, hame and sangs never gets old or unin- 
teresting. Losh ! here's a sermon — Gloag, I suppose keeps ye 
supplied wi' that , . . Twa o'clock struck— dinner at 3'30 
or 4 — snooze — shave — yawn — dress — lantern — walk to Insti- 
tute — sing till 1030 — lantern — bed — up at 5 — rail till I0"30 — 
II, breakfast and so on. My certie ! ony pemicketty body 
bad better bide at hame. We seem like lumps o' butter — tak' 
ony shape we maun. . . . India seems to us just now in 
every respect a bladder, imposing, windy, by no means worth 
the fash politically." 

" Allahabad, 20th Dec. 
" My health restored — heaven be praised ! — up-country air 
delicious. . . ." 

" Bombay, lOth Jan., '80 
" The winter past here — heat stronger every day. We sail 
from Calcutta on 2nd March. . . . I'm sitting, my coat off, 
the window open and the sweat gathering on my brow — ^the 
air is moist and heavy — at night I suffer greatly from heat, my 
voice is a' richt now, a' goes on smoothly. ..." 

" Lucknow, 2ist Jany., '8a 
"... The [business management is fearfully tedious — 
harassing, hot weather, too — done mostly middle of the day. 
Nevertheless, India is the keystone of our information — now 
everything is compact . . ." 

" Agra, 26th Jany., '8a 
" I miss the warm love of my audiences in other lands — this 
(for the whites) is an arid land in all heart crops — pride, anger, 
all the hell crops grow well. . . ." 

" Lahore, 3rd Feby., '80. 
" Just read sic a bunch o' letters and never felt more pleased 
in all my life. Mother and me alone, and we sat and grat wi' 



72 Reminiscences of David Kennedy. 

perfect joy. . . . Last night biggest house ever seen here 
— Governor, and so on — glorious sing. Our health will stand 
the hame-comin'. . . ." 

He left India in March, as proposed, and on the return 
Journey spent some months in Italy with his sons and 
daughters, attending their lessons, helping them with advice, 
and himself learning much that proved useful to him during 
the next six years. The following letter is from the shores of 
Lake Como, whither Lamperti had gone for the summer, fol- 
lowed of course by his circle of pupils : — 

" Cernobbia, Lake of Como, Italy, 
"Monday, 3rd May, i88a 

" Dear Wifie, — Like St Paul I say unto you, behold, how 
large a letter I have written you with mine own hand. Here 
I am after rowing an hour and a half on the lake — a nice open 
window neither cauld nor het, and the hope of a quiet smoke 
when I have got this letter finished. Saturday nicht I left 
Milan by train at 5.45 p.m., got to Como-toon at 740— 
whustled — got Jamie ootside^ — off we went wi' my black 
bag — clean sark — black coat^ — swellish hat^ — I have not 
had them on yet Jim took me into a wee boat in 
the dark, and row'd, row'd away into the lake and night — the 
boat was wee and coglie, and thinks I, will Lizzie ever see her 
mannie again. Jim said, * Steer for yon licht' * I see nae licht,' 
says I. I glowered again. 'Oh, yes.' *Weel then, faither,* 
quo Jim, 'put the licht oot in my heid.' So I did, but now and 
then I had the licht on his left lug and now and then on his 
richt ; and then, to continue the thrilling story, he says, * Mak' 
for the licht on the left, that's a man lookin' for us ;' but we 
nearly (in the dark) bumped against the licht a man was using 
for spearing fish. At length and lang, after many perils and 
dangers on the bosom of a quiet lake, we ran or * snooved ' 
ashore, some wreckers on shore giving me an arm oot the bonnie 
wee boat Then some het wine, some theological crack wi' 
Jim, then off to bed at 10.30. Sabbath (don't tell Gloag) we 
were eight and a half hours on the lake ; there was naething to 
gang till but Popery kirks — dull — rain at the end o' journey, 
but what cared we — grand mountains, magnificent mist-clouds, 
good grub, and fresh air. Good dinner at 7 p.m. — bed at 9 



Loss of a Son and two Daughters. 73 

p.m. — first nicht in a graund room by myset' — second ntcht, a 
cozy wee bed in Jamie's room. Monday, up at seven— break- 
fast at 7,30 — walk — lesson (I was there) — took stock — I will 
teach the system, and so will Jim, when we come home. I 
rowed in the boat an hour and a half mysel' alone — macaroni 
and chicken getting ready for dinner — sleep — walk to Como, 
three miles — coffee — papers — walk back — bed 9,30, and so on. 
. . . The folk in Milan a' richt. I'll be hame there (Milan) 
on Friday. . , Love tae a', — Your affectionate husband, 
D. Kennedy. 

Advantage was taken of his presence in Milan to get up a 
concert for the purpose of defraying the expense of introducing 
a new organ into the English Church there. He gladly gave 
his services and sang several Scottish songs to a mixed 
audience of Italians and English-speaking residents. He 
specially pleased the Italian critics by his singing of " The 
Land o' the Leal," and they were charmed with his ease of 
manner and expressiveness of face and gesture. 

When he returned to Scotland he took his son James with 
him, leaving Robert, Helen, and Marjory to continue their 
studies in MilaiL 

With James and John and two younger daughters, Kate and 
Lizzie, he toured in Scotland till the spring of 188 1, when James 
returned to Signor Lamperti to resume his vocal studies, taking 
with him his sisters Kate and Lizzie. Lamperti was wintering 
in Nice and there they joined him, but had only been three 
weeks from home when the terrible news arrived that they had 
all three perished at the burning of the Theatre des Italiens at 
Nice It was a terrible blow and he never recovered from it, 
although he took up his work a^in and went courageously on 
with it, having perhaps a still greater power for good now that 
he had the world's sympathy with him in his sorrow. 

In the autumn of the same year he again visited America, 
accompanied by his sons, Robert and John, and three 



74 Re^niniscences of David Kennedy, 

daughters, Helen, Marjory, and Maggie. Crowded audiences 
welcomed him in Canada and the States, and he pushed up 
to the north-west as far as Winnipeg, then the point toward 
which the stream of emigration was pouring. In 1882 he 
returned home, and after a season in Scotland and England, 
he started in the spring of 1883 for his farewell tour of 
Australia and New Zealand. This proved the most success- 
ful tour he had ever undertaken, but it was carried through 
at the cost of great physical exhaustion and nervous strain. 
He sighed for rest, and could not take it. His spirit was rest- 
less — he wanted ever to be at his work, and the sympathy 
and society of the public were necessary to his existence. 
Within a month of the end of his tour he wrote from Hobart 
Town, Tasmania, as follows : — 

" 14th June, '84. 

" Dear A'body, — Only a word or two. How near the end 
of our tour in this splendid part of God's creation. I shall 
never see it again. Steekin* the door ahint me ! Ah, well ! 
our door No. 8 will open — the most important door next to 
the gate of heaven. All are well, as we heard from you. 
How our hearts rejoice at * All well.' May ye a' continue so 
till we meet Rest I REST ! REST ! Oh, how sweet is the 
sound. . . . Love to a' freens. — Your affectionate father, 

"D. Kennedy. 

On the return journey from Australia he was eagerly looking 
forward to the meeting with his eldest son David, who had 
returned to Edinburgh from a three years residence in Natal. 
David was in delicate health, and his father proposed sending 
him to winter in the south of France ; but a fortnight before 
the arrival of the Australian mail, he was sent off by the 
doctors to a warmer climate and chose to return to Natal. It 
was a terrible disappointment to both his father and himself. 
He got a government appointment in Pietermaritzburg, as 



Death of his eldest Son. 75 

secretar>' to the Council of Education, and his health seemed 
to improve for a time, but he suffered a relapse and died about 
six months after his appointment This was another great 
sorrow to his father, who was at the time touring in Scotland. 

After his return from Australia in the autumn of 1884, he 
remained only eighteen months in the "old country," and in 
March, 1886, he gave his farewell concerts, prior to departure for 
America, in the St. James's Hall, London, to crowded audiences. 
During this season he brought out his youngest daup^hter Jessie, 
the last of his family of eleven, all of whom had at one time or 
another accompanied him on his concert tours. 

Because of the great heat of the summer months in the 
States and Upper Canada, the American tour was commenced 
in the Canadian maritime provinces, and the intention was to 
go through Canada first and open the farewell tour of the States 
on Bums' Night, January, 1887, in the Steinway Hall, New 
York. The tour was to include a visit to British Columbia. 
But all these plans were suddenly frustrated. He had been 
growing weaker and weaker day by day. His public talk was 
growing more and more impressive, and we all felt a shadow 
coming over us. But every one said he was singing more 
beautifully than ever. How well I remember the last time he 
sang " The land o' the leal," it was so beautiful both in tone 
and expression, that it was with difficulty we went on with 
the remainder of the programme. The disease, Canadian 
cholera, came on gradually, but he would not cancel his 
engagements, although we begged him to do so for his own 
sake. He had always gone on through everything — only twice 
during the whole of his professional career had he been unfit 
for work. Once in India, when he was laid down with fever, 
and again in Elgin, in the north of Scotland, when he was 
confined to his room with a very severe cold. 



y(> Reminiscences of David Kennedy. 

On Tuesday, the fifth of October, we were to sing in Strat- 
ford, Ontario, and we travelled on from Samia in the afternoon. 
He lay down to rest, and did not wake till shortly before eight 
o'clock. We were all over at the Town Hall except one of 
our sisters, who remained to help him, and the audience was 
gathered, many of them having come long distances to hear 
Kennedy for the last time. At eight o'clock our sister came 
and said he was too ill to move. What should we do? We 
could not send the people away at the last hour. The mayor 
of the city, Mr. McGregor, kindly offered to take the chair, and 
we carried the programme through ourselves. We believed it 
would be only a temporary illness, and made arrangements for 
a long rest ; but we had only a week of nursing. The windows 
were open all the time, for the Canadian autumn weather is 
lovely, and we looked out on the gorgeous autumn foliage of 
the maple trees. 

There was nothing gloomy about his death, nothing bitter 
about his memory. It was the peaceful end of a beautiful life. 
His wife and daughters were all round him when he died, and 
sang to him two verses of his favourite hymn — 



" The sands of time are sinking, 
The dawn of heaven breaks, 
The summer mom I've sighed for, 
The fair sweet mom awakes." 



He was perfectly conscious and moved his lips in unison with 
theirs, for he was too weak to do more. He did not die a 
stranger in a strange land. There were men there who had 
known him in boyhood, and others who were friends of his 
manhood, and all proved most true friends to us in our trouble. 
We wish to thank publicly Mr. Thomas Ballantyne, M.P.P., 
Mr. Alex. Matheson, editor of the Stratford Beacon^ and Mr. 



Letters on Friendship. 77 

David Campbell for the many and invaluable services they- 
rendered to us. 

His remains were embalmed, and twelve hours after his 
death the funeral car moved to the station followed by 
hundreds of the citizens. We came home, and there was 
another funeral procession from his own house to the Grange 
Cemetery, where he was laid just opposite to his own father 
and near to Dr. Guthrie. He was a man who had loved much 
and was much loved in return. Of friendship he wrote : — 

" Dear Freen, — A' the joys o' life are bound up in true 
friendship. Heart to heart, soul to soul, is rare among all 
men, and if you don't show_yi7«r heart you'll never see a heart 
• — every man has an unexplored region in his being and in it 
he will, I believe, find very visible traces of the Deity. Real 
Freenship means equality in a' thing or near about it . . . 
The true sublime of human life is love of bairns and wife. . . 
God, wife, bairns, frcens, country, profession. How does that 
order please ye. . . Ye drank my health at 6 p.m. did ye ! 
(New Year's Day). Ah weel — I was shaving at that time for 
singing at Letth. Thank ye — I thocht on ye as I scraped 
mysel' — may the Deil never hae a hand in oor washing. 

" Yrs. very truly, D. KENNEDY." 

And ag^n : — 

" Sappiness ts a great blessing — it is not too common. 
Juiciness — the glorious product of a warm heart oiling the hard 
intellect and exuding the sympathising tear or breaking out in 
the sunny smile, the hearty hand-shake — producing in short 
the highest result of human or divine chemistry — Love ." 

He was a genuine musical enthusiast outside the range of 
his country's songs, had a great admiration for Handel, and a 
reverential feeling towards the music of the " Messiah." He 
sang the tenor airs from oratorios to us occasionally, and we 
shall not soon forget his singing of the Messiah passion music. 



•ta ■- ^ ^ "7 ■• * * "I 



ir.,*-^- ^- -- - - ... z. — .^ --r^^i." B;ir the Sim of 



/"j^r:.»ir Sill' i.'i * V/iit i-er .- 
:r.-:*:.il f.rrLajzie-" -^ls ?J:Viri '.Vir^er. Kfs eathosiasai for 

i-irr. iu-.-tTi' -.- -^_v» =- i... i . — ^- ^^ va^iKa more tiic 

"•idcs."" :---in the f.rnu ii:*e.cr ,^r*a£:V. the Utter, and 
cor,=.^rje't-y r^-.-ri j::zi=el: :r_ ihi s£ie <x the pardsans of the 
-nj-Ti- of the fur-rsi' V/rlur.^ en ihe subject, Mr. \V. 
I :c- fervor., of Lt^-icr.. 55. vf : — 



•In June cf '*2 }:ur fithcr v^is spending a holiday in 
L'nion. Gem: an -.yzr<^ ^^-5^ en 1: the time at Dnirj- Lane, 
and he was en-ovin^ :: as a rare feast- He heard ' Tristan and 
Is ylde; the nrst tin:e it ^as played i believe in this country") 
* Eurianthe,* * Fide!: : .' ^nd the * Meistersin^er." He was quite 
enthusiastic over \Va=:nen There was a •b-::ness/ a wild 
grandeur about it. which quite m^ved him. He was delighted 
beyond expression. It pleased him also verj- much when we 
succeeded in getting Tenr.pleton up t:* stay with us for a night 
in order that we might all go together to hear *The Meister- 
singer.' Mr. Templeton to^-^k it all in very quietly. Upon the 
whole, however, he and all of us much crioved the treat. 
Upon your father remarking to him * This was the scene of 
your many triumphs/ * Aye/ replied he, • and of many many 
di??appointmcnts/ J. \V. Davison, musical critic of The Times^ 
and other veterans of the press, crowded round your father and 
Templeton during the intervals, and there was much of spark- 
ling wit and humor. It was a night, I believe, to be long 
remembered by all of us there.*' 



After Burns, his favourite author was Carlyle. He read all 
his works over and over again, and enjoyed them more at every 
fresh reading. His reading of the day tinged his conversation 
of the evening, and one could readily tell, for instance, when 
lie had been reading Carlyle. During the last ten or twelve 
years of his professional life he made only a mental prepara- 
tion for his evening's work, spending the afternoon in the 
seclusion of his own room. His running lecture or commentary 



His Patriotism. 79 

on the songs not being a prepared and written-out formula, we 
have some difficulty in giving faithful exaniples of his style ; 
be lefl no notes, and we are dependant on memory alone. In 
his admiration for Burns and Carlyle he was undoubtedly in- 
fluenced by their nationality, for he was as enthusiastic in his 
patriotism as in all else. 

He felt keenly the growing fashion of talking of the affairs 
of the nation as the "English" policy. In introducing Burns' 
song, " Scots ! wha hae wi' Wallace bled," (Bruce's address to 
the Scottish army on Bannockburn field) he said, " Scotland is 
not a part of England, Scotland is a parttur with England in 
the country which ought to be called, but seldom is, " Great 
Britain." Part of the treaty of the Union was that the two 
countries should take down their rival signboards, " England " 
and "Scotland," and put up a large one covering both — 
"Great Britain." The bargain was made fair and square. 
John Bull couldna say to Sandy Campbell, "You must do 
this " or " You must do that" " Must " was , buried at 
Bannockburn field. " If you want to be freends," says Sandy, 
" there's my h&nd, but if you want to fecht, come on !" That 
bargain has not been kept. Orators of all kinds, both great 
and small, talk of " England " when they mean Britain, and 
of the "English" army, and the "English" navy, etc., as if 
there were no 42nd Highlanders or Enniskillen. Dragoons." 
Some people think this is a craze, and that the name Eng- 
land serves just as well as Britain, but to those who are proud 
of their nationality it is not so. 

In politics he was a radical, a land-for-the-nation man, 
although he did not pin his faith to any particular leader. Of 
all politicians the man he most esteemed was John Bright 
He had been the hero of his younger days. One day he met 
him on the station at Grantown on the Highland Railway. 



8o Reminiscences of David Kennedy. 

The old gentleman was kindly helping my mother and sisters 
into the carriage in the absence of a porter when my father 
came up, " Pardon me, but you are John Bright, if I mistake 
not." " That is my name," he said," " whom have / the 
pleasure of addressing?" " I am David Kennedy, the Scottish 
singer. I have sung *• A man's a man for a' that ' round the 
world." At this moment the train moved off. They cordially 
shook hands and parted. 

From many similar testimonies to the respect and love 
which Scotsmen bore to our father in all parts of the world we 
select a few lines from a resolution moved by the §t Andrew 
Society of London, Ont, as they describe his work in a very 
few words : — 



"We feel that by the death of Mr. Kennedy, Scotsmen 
throughout the world have lost a friend and educator; that 
Mr. Kennedy's high ideal in his professional career was not 
only to bring out the humor, pathos, and patriotism which so 
strongly characterize our national melodies, but his keen 
appreciation and earnest enforcement of the moral and 
religious elements in the songs which he loved to sing to his 
countrymen in all parts of the civilized world, have left an 
indelible impression for good on the minds of the present 
generation of Scotsmen wherever his voice has been heard." 



It is not for us, his family, to write at length of his almost 
unbounded generosity, and his warm-hearted sympathy with 
suffering humanity. He felt too keenly, for his own happiness, 
the miseries of others. 

We have not quoted press criticisms, as they are too numerous, 
but a few words from a well known critic (Mr. W. N. Watson, 
of Dundee) are worth repeating : — ** His singing was artistic 
in the truest sense of the word, where vocal tone, melody, and 
manner were subservient to the one purpose of enforcing the 



Hen-Pecked Husbands. 



8i 



meaniag of words as expressive of thought and feeling, and 
his speech was as his singing — incisive and eloquent" 

He did not merely sing his country's songs, he in many 
cases doubled the value of songs by his interpretation of them 
— they were distinctly " creations " in the sense that an actor 
or operatic singer "creates" a part Jls for instance, "The 
wee wee German lairdie," "Johnnie Cope," "The women are a* 





gane wud," " Hame cam' oor 
gudeman at e'en," " The 
Laird o' Cockpen," "Come 
under my plaidie," " The 
weary pund o' tow." His 
introduction to the latter is. 
an easily quotable example 
of his manner of interpreta- 
tioiL He perceives that it is the utterance of a hen-pecked 
husband, and gives a verbal picture of the race as follows : — 

"There were and are and ever more shall be hen-pecked 
husbands in Scotland and everywhere else. This man had a 
wife who would not spin but she would drink, in a country 



82 Reminiscences of David Kennedy. 

where spinning was a virtue and drinking a disgrace. A 
terrible life he lived till at length she died, and he followed her 
' feet foremost ower the knowe ' to yonder kirkyard with his 
eyes overflowing with tears and his heart with joy. He saw 
her weel trampit doon six feet ancath the gnind, and went 
home to his own house, where for the first time he dared speak 
his mind, and what did he say? I'm %veel oot o' this mes9^ 
afore I'd marry again I'd rather hang mysel' ; but his joy was 
short-lived, for the horrible fear comes over him that death itself 
may not be able to hold this fearful woman in his clutches. 
So he leaves your sight moaning as of yore over the ' Weary 
pund o' tow.' Hen-pecked husbands are commonly tall, thin, 
lanky men with yellowish, dryish, thinish, greyish, hair. 
Their eyes lack lustre, the colour of them blueish yellow, their 
voices are thin, dry, or douf, their complexions are sallow, 
their shoulders stoop, their knees approach, and their toes 
turn inwards — 




' The weary _ 

Tbe wcaiy pund o 

I think my wife will c 

Afote she spins het 



pund, the weaiy pund, 
rv Ijund o' tow ; 

>'i11 end face Ur« 



" The women are a' gane wud '■ was 
another example of a man who was not 
master in his own house, a man who 
"trimmed" and was on neither side 
at the time of the Jacobite Rebellion. 
He paraphrased the old man's opin- 
ions as follows: — 

"Women should never be allowed 
to meddle wi' politics. Women dae 
what their heart bids them, and what's the use o' your heart in 
politics, it's your head you maun use. It's no what's richt or 



wOpar^ /Blind o' fo**' 



" The weCy wee German Lairdie** 83 

wrang ye maun dae in politics, it's what's expedient. If it's 
expedient to dae wrang, do't, if you're perfectly certain that 
it'll advance your ain personal interests." 

It would be much more difficult to give an idea of his 
impersonation of Patie Birnie, the auld fiddler of Kinghorn, in 
" The auld man's mare's dead," or his rendering of "The Deil's 
awa wi' the Exciseman," or " Johnnie Cope," or " The wee wee 
German lairdie." In connection with this last named song, he 
used to tell how for years he tried to realize the white heat of 
a Highlander's wrath and the bitterness of his scorn, but with- 
out success, till one day, walking in the Zoological Gardens in 
Toronto, Ontario, he came against the cage of a wild cat. The 
beast glared at him and sprang at the bars and shook them. 
Instantly it struck him that that was a Hielandman singing 
" The wee wee German lairdie." He practised the effect there 
and then with his model before him, and sang the song to it, 
and his mimic rage so subdued the brute that after the first 
line it loosed its hold of the bars, after the second it slunk 
back, after the third it ceased grinning, and at the end of the 
fourth it went to the back of the cage, coiled its tail on the 
floor, sat down upon it and winked at him. 

He was a most enthusiastic lover of the Highland songs, 
urging us to the study of them, which we cheerfully took up, 
singing them first to some of Professor Blackie's translations, 
and later attempting the whole song in Gaelic. He was never 
tired of listening to them. Indeed it would be difficult to 
convey an adequate idea of his enjoyment of his own nightly 
work and of the singing of his " bairns." He had no grades of 
performance, he always strained every nerve to do his best for 
the sake of the songs he loved so well. 

As indicating to some extent the particular place he held as 
an exponent of Scottish songs, we close with the following 



84 Reminiscences of David Kennedy. 

extract from a letter of Mr. John Forbes-Robertson, of Lon- 
don, the well-known art critic, addressed to him in September, 
1885. He writes: — 

'' I knew personally and familiarly John Sinclair, John 
Templeton and John Wilson — a vocal triumvirate of whom 
Scotland might well be proud. 

" The first was known as * the leddies* bonnie Sinclair.' His 
daughters, by the way, like your own, were mainly educated in 
Italy. One of them was married to Edwin Forrest, the Ameri- 
can tragedian, who, if I remember rightly, told me he was bom 
in Montrose. I have often heard Mrs. Forrest and her sister 
sing as a duet, ' Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,' with much 
tenderness and effect They never sang in public. Sinclair 
was a frank, genial fellow, and among his Scottish songs were 
* Hey the bonnie, ho the bonnie, hey the bonny breastknots^' 
and one of his own composition * Come, sit ye doon, my bonny 
bonny love.' But Sinclair often sang English operatic songs 
such as * Pray Goody, please to moderate the rancour of your 
tongue,' and the like. He could hardly be said, therefore, to 
have been a special exponent of Scottish melody. Similar 
remarks are applicable to John Templeton. He also went in 
for English opera, and was specially good in English huntii^ 
songs. Among Scottish lilts his most popular were Imlah's 
" There lived a young lassie far doon in yon glen " composed 
forty-five years ago by De Pinna of London, and * Roy's 
Wife,' which, I must say, he sang splendidly. I have heard 
him try your glorious song of * Rantin', Rovin' Robin,' but his 
delivery of it, though very spirited, was quite conventional, and 
entirely lacked that rousing swing you give to the chorus. In 
both cases the men were as anxious to display the academic 
flexibility of their voices as to set forth the innate beauties of 
their country's songs. Each had in his turn, like Wilson after 
them, been first tenor at the English Opera, and they could 
not forget the fact 

" When I come to John Wilson, I name the only man who 
has any real claim to be considered your forerunner, or com* 
pared with you in any way. He was not without a certain 
rather stilted pawkiness, and had perhaps all your sweetness 
but none of your breadth and power. His singing of ' The 
flowers of the forest' was really exquisite ; but when he came 
to deal with the native humor of his country's muse his sense 
of the proprieties always came in the way, and he allowed 



Critique by John ForbeS'Robertson. 85 

manners and deportment, in a certain measure, to override the 
inspiration of nature. He never abandoned himself, as you do, 
to any of those homely influences or glorious bursts for whose 
display our songs a^ord so many striking opportunities. 
Further : you are a born actor, and possess a dramatic sym- 
pathy and intensity — a power of personation, in short — to 
whidi none of your predecessors could, in the same degree, lay 
claim. From long residence in England, they were all three 
more or less Anglicised, both socially and as artists, and were, 
when among Southrons, almost apolf^tic in introducing the 
Doric of their native land, whether in speech or song. You, 
on the contrary, have not only the courage of your country, 
but an exceeding great joy and pride in whatever is hers ; and 
your mither-tongue, as the wide world knows, is to you a 
sacred trust and possession. 

" In short, my half century's experience, and my own lyrical 
instincts, entitle me to assert that, whether for simple narrative 
or description, for emotion, pathos, and power, you are by far 
tiie most perfect and dramatic exponent of Scottish song that 
Scotland has yet produced." 



S6 Saunders JlPG/as/ia?i*s Coiirtship. 



Saunders M'Glashan's Courtship. 



Saunders M'Glashan was a handloom weaver in a rural 
part of Scotland many years ago. Like many another Scots- 
man, he was strongly possessed with the desire to own the 
house he lived in. He bought it, before he had saved money 
enough to pay for it, and he toiled day and night to clear 
the debt, but died in the struggle. He bequeathed the debt 
and his blessing to his wife and bairns. When he was dyings 
he called his son to the bedside and said, *' Saunders, ye're the 
eldest son, and ye maun be a faither to the ither bairns, see 
that they a' learn to read their Bibles and to write their names, 
and be gude to your mither; and, Saunders, promise me 
that ye'll see that the debt is paid." The son promised, 
and the father died and was buried in the auld kirjcyard. Years 
passed — the bairns were a' married and awa*, and Saunders 
was left alone with his mother. She grew frail and old, and he 
nursed her with tender conscious care. On the evening of 
the longest summer day she lay dying. Saunders sat at her 
bedside, and they opened their hearts to each other on the 
grandest themes. Stretching her skinny hand out of the bed- 
clothes, she laid it on his head, now turning grey, and said : 
" Saunders, ycVc been a gude laddie, and Tm gaun to leave ye. 
I bless ye, and Heaven will bless you; for ye have dune 
Heaven's biddin', and honoured your faither and mither. I'll 
see your faither the morn, and Til tell him that the bairns are 
a' weel, and that the debt was paid lang or I left the earth." 
She died, and he laid her in the kirkyard beside his father, and 
returned to the house he was born in — alone. He sat down in 
his father's chair crowned with the priceless crown of a 
deserved blessing, but there was no voice to welcome him. 



Saunders M^Glashatis Courtship, 87 

•'WhafU I dae/' he said. "I think Tli just keep the hoose 
myser." This was easily done, for he lived very simply — 
parritch or brose to breakfast, tatties and herrin' to dinner, and 
brose or parritch again to supper. But when winter set in, 
his trials began. One dark morning he awoke and said, "What 
needs I lie gantin' here, Til rise and get a licht.*' So he got his 
flint and steel and tinder-box and set to work. Nowadays we 
strike a match and have a light, but Saunders had no such 
easy task. The sparks from the steel and flint would not 
ignite the tinder, he struck vehemently, missed the flint, and 
drove the steel deep into his knuckles. "This'll never dae," he 
cried, " I'm tired o' this life — I'm determined to hae a wife." 
He succeeded at last in lighting the fire and made his parritch^ 
but he burnt them, and the soot came doon the lum and fell 
into them. " I'm pooshinin' mysel'," he said; "I'm fa'in* awa' 
frae my claes, an' my breeks are hingin* in wrunkles about me. 
I said in my haste this mornin' that I wad hae a wife, an' noo 
I say in my solemn leisure, * This very day I shall have a 
wife!'" 

Saunders was a simple-minded man, but no simpleton. He 
knew nothing of the ways of women. Various maidens had 
set their caps at him, but he had never seen it He knew his 
Bible well, and naturally turned to Solomon for advice, but 
did not get much comfort there. " Hoo am I to understand 
women," he said, " for Solomon was the wisest man that ever 
lived, and he said that lie couldna understand the ways o* 
women — it was'na for the want o* opportunity ony way." 

Instinct told him that when he went a-wooing his best dress 
should go on; and looking in the glass he said, "I canna gang 
to see the lasses wi' a beard like that" So he shaved himself, 
altho' he was never known to shave except on Saturday ; and 
he was such a strict Sabbatarian that if he began to shave late 
on Saturday night, and the clock chappit twelve when he had 
but one half of his face scrapit, he would leave it till the Sunday 
was over. The shaving done, he rubbed his chin, saying, with 
great simplicity, "I think that should dae for the lasses noo." 
Then he turned and admired himself in the glass, for vanity is 



88 Saunders APGlas/ian's Courtship, 

the last thing that dies, even in man. " Ye're no a very ill lookin' 
man after a', Saunders ; but its a' very weel bein* guid lookin' 
and weel drest, but whatna woman am I gaun to seek for my 
wife." 

He got at length paper and a pencil and wrote down with 
great deliberation six female names in large half text, carefully 
dotting all the "i"s and stroking all the "t"s, and surveyed the 
list as follows : " That's a* the women I mind about There's 
no great choice among them, I think — let me see," putting on 
his spectacles, "it's no very wiselike gaun courtin' when a body 
needs to wear specs. Several o' them IVe never spoken till, 
but I suppose that's of no consequence in this case. There's 
Mary Young. She's no veiy young, at ony rate. Elspeth 
McFarlane, but she's blind o' the richt e'e ; and it's not neces- 
sary that Saunders M*Glashan should marr>' an imperfect 
woman. Kirsty Forsyth — she's been married twice already, 
an' surely twa men's enough for ony woman. Mary Morison 
— a very bonnie woman, but she's gotten a confounded lang 
tongue, an' they say the hair upon her head's no' her ain hair 
— I'm certain it's her ain tongue, at ony rate ! Jeannie Miller, 
wi' plenty o' siller — not to be despised. Janet Henderson, wi' 
plenty o' love. I ken that she has a gude heart, for she was 
kind till her mither lang bedfast ; an' when ony barefoot laddie 
braks his taes, he rises and gowls, and runs straight to her 
house, and she dights his bubbly nose and claps him on the 
head, and says, * rin awa' hame noo, ye'll be a man afore yex 
mither ! ' Noo, which o' thae six will I go to first ? I think 
the first four can bide a wee, but the last twa — siller and love ! 
— love and siller ! Eh, wadna it be grand if a person could get 
them baith ! but that's no' allowed in the Christian dispensa- 
tion. The patriarchs had mair liberty. Abraham wad just 
hae ta'en them baith, but I'm no' Abraham. They say siller's 
the god o' the warld — I never had ony mair use for siller than 
to buy meat and claes, to put a penny in the plate on Sabbath, 
and gie a bawbee to a blind fiddler. But they say heaven's 
love and love's heaven, an' if I bring Janet Henderson to my 
fireside, and she sits at that side darnin' stockins, and I sit at 



Saunders M^Glasharis Courtship. 89 

this side readin' after my day's wark, an' I lauch ower to her, 
and she lauchs ower tae me, isna that heaven upon earth? A 
body can get on in this warld withoot siller, but they canna 
get on in this world without love. I'll gie Janet Henderson 
the first offer." 

He put on his best Sabbath-day hat, and issued forth into 
the street Instantly at all the windows commanding a view 
of the street, there were female noses flattened against the 
panes. Voices might be heard crying, " mither ! mither ! 
mither ! Come here ! come here ! come here ! Look ! look ! 
look! there's Saunders M*Glashan wi' his beard aff, and his 
Sabbath-day claes on in the middle o' the week ; he's looking 
awfu' melancholy, — I wonder wha's dead." 

Quite unconscious of the sensation he was creating, he 
walked gravely on towards the house of Janet Henderson. 
She at this moment, not knowing that her first offer was so 
near, was sitting spinning, sighing and saying ! " Eh preserve 
me ! its a weary warld 1 I've been thirty year auld for the 
last ten years (sings) — 

' Naebody comin' to marry me, 
Naebody comin tae woo ! 
Naebody comin' to marry me, 
Naebody comin* tae woo.* ** 

The door opened, and there stood Saunders M*Glashan. "Eh! 
preserve me, Saunders, is that you? A sicht o' you's guid for 
sair een!" The maiden span and took side-long glances. 
A woman can see mair wi' the tail o' her ee, than a man can 
see with his two eyes wide open. "Come awa' into the fire. 
What's up wi' ye the day, Saunders ? ye're awfu' weel lickit 
up, ye are ; I never saw ye lookin' sae handsome. What is't 
ye're after?" "Tm gaun aboot seekin' a wife!" "Eh, 
Saunders, if it's that ye want, ye needna want that very lang, 
I'm thinkin'." " But ye dinna seem to understand me ; it's 
ycu I want for my wife." "Saunders M^Glashan! think shame 
o' yersel', makin' a fool o' a young person in that manner." 
"I'm makin' nae fool o' ye, Janet This very day I'm de- 

/ 



ix^ Saunders M^Glashaiis Courtship. 

tonnincd to hae a wife. You are the first that I've spoken 
till. I houp there's nae offence, Janet I meant no offence. 
ICh I oh very weel, if that's the way o't, it canna be helped," 
and slowly unfolding the paper, which he had taken from his 
waistcoat pocket, " I have several other women's names markit 
down here tae ca' upon." 

She saw the man meant business, stopped her spinning, 
looked down, was long lost in thought, raised her face, and 
broke the silence as follows, "Saunders (ahem) M'Glashan 
(ahem), I've given your serious offer great reflection ; I've 
spoken to my heart, and the answer's come back to my tongue. 
I'm sorry tae hurt yer feelins, Saunders, but what the heart 
speaketh the tongue repeateth. A body maun act in thae 
matters according to their conscience, for they maun gie an ac- 
count at the last. So I think, Saunders, — I think Til just — I'll 
just" — covering her face with her apron — "I'll just tak' ye. 
Eh, Saunders, gae 'wa' wi' ye! — gae 'wa' ! gae *wa' !" But the 
maiden did not require to resist, for he made no attack, but 
solemnly sat in his seat, and solemnly said, " I'm rale muckle 
obleeged to ye, Janet : it'll no be necessary to ca' on ony o' 
thae ither lassies noo !" He rose, thinking it was all over, and 
turned towards the door, but the maiden was there first, with 
her back at the door, and said, "Preserve me! what have I 
dune ? If my neebors come tae ken that I've ta'en you at the 
very first offer, they'll point the finger of scorn at me, and say 
ahint my back as lang as I live, * that woman was deeiri for 
a man ' : so ye maun come here every day for the next month, 
and come in day licht, so that they'll a' see ye comin' an' gaun, 
and they'll say, * that woman's no easy coortit I can tell ye ; 
the puir man's wearin' his shoon aff his feet ! ' For, Saunders ! 
though I'll be your wife, Saunders, I'm determined to hae my 
dues o' courtship a' the same." She lit the lamp of love in his 
heart at last. For the first time in his long life he felt the unmis* 
takcable, holy, heavenly glow ; his heart broke into a full storm 
of love, and stooping down he took her yielding hand in his 
and said, "Yes 1 wull, yes I wull! I'll come twice every day, my 
Jo! my Jo — Jaanet!" Before the unhappy man knew where 



Saunders M^GlasIiatCs Courtship. 



91 



he was he had kissed the maiden ! who was long expecting it ; 
but the man blushed crimson, feeling guilty of a crime which 
he thought no woman could forgive, for it was the first kiss he 
had gotten or given in fifty lang Scottish kissless years — while 
the woman stood with a look of supreme satisfaction, looking 
for more, but as no more seemed coming — for a woman can 
see a kiss a long way off— she lifted the corner o' her apron 
and dichted her moo, and said to him as she dichted her moo, 
" eh, Saunders M*Glashan ! isna that rale refreshin ! " 



92 Tlie Minister's Fiddle, 



The Minister's Fiddle. 



In a small, northern, inland, lazy, sleepy, self-satisfied Scottish 
town, lived John and Tammas, weavers by profession ; apron^ 
round their waists ; fond o' snuff ; in the days when the snuff 
mill was used as the pipe is now. 

** Tak' a snuff, Tammas ? Onything new?" « No." " Nae- 
thing ava ?" " No." 

Now Tammas was the gossip of the place, the man that 
knew everything first in the town, and folks sometimes said he 
kenned things afore they happened. 

" Eh ! man stop or I mind ! Weel, Til just mention a 
circumstance that came to my knowledge yesterday. As I 
was gaun doun the street, a wheen wives were fillin' their pigs 
at the well. I couldna help noticin* that they were a' Baptist 
bodies an' dissentin* trash, an* they were speakin' about oor 
minister, and said ane to the ither, *No!' *Eh, preserve me, 
have ye no heard ? Folks arc sayin' that the fiddle gangs 
frae morning till nicht in the parish minister's hoose.* Weel, 
when I heard that, I could'na help sayin* to mysel* a' last 
nicht, I wonder if there was less fiddlin' in the manse if there 
wad be ony mair pith into the poopit." 

" Capital,'* says John, " capital, guid mornin', guid morninV' 
and away went the old man to his cronies and told them the 
pungent saying of Tammas, and they came to the general 
opinion that something must be done to prevent the parish 
kirk becoming a byword and a reproach. So the Session at 
last met informally, and decided that it was their duty to ex- 
postulate with the minister, and John and Tammas were 



The Minister's Fiddle. 93 

appointed a deputation for that purpose. He heard of their 
coming — a minister has lang ears — and was prepared for them. 
The deputation came to the door -of the manse confident of 
their success, and were met at the door by the minister. 
"How's a' wi' ye, Tammas? How are ye to-day, John?'* 
" We're quite well, sir," said they, bowing stiffly, with all the 
dignity of "offeecial" persons. John, who was the spokes- 
man, cleared his voice and began, " Sir, the Session appointed 
me and Tammas a deppytation to ca' upon you to say — ." 
" Ye manna stand at the door and speak, come awa' in. Sit 
doon there, Tammas." 

" I canna sit there ! that's yer ain chair." 

" All the chairs in the house are mine, but thaf s my study 
chair. If ye sit there lang enough Tammas, ye'll maybe be 
able to mak' sermons yersel' !" 

John felt that he must begin at once, but he soon discovered 
that it is one thing to be appointed " a deputation " and another 
thing to do its business. His " mull " was in his hand, and he 
tapped it as if his brains were in it. " Weel," as I said, " the 
Session appinted Tammas and me — me and Tammas — a 
deppytation to ca' upon you an' say that — that we were ap- 
pinted, Tammas an' me, a deppytation — that the Session met 
an' appinted Tammas an' me to wait upon ye, sir, an' say that 
—that— Wull ye tak a snuff, sir ? " 

"Oh, yes. I'm very fond, of snuff, and speaking of snuff 
puts me in mind of a man that sleeps in the seat with you 
on Sabbath. Would you kindly give him a pinch of your best 
snuff to keep him awake." 

" I'll dae that, sir," says John, " Til dae that. But dae ye no 
think it wad be a gudc thing if ye wad put a pinch o' snuff 
into your sermon ? " 

"What's the matter wi' my sermons, John? Are ye no 
pleased wi' my sermons ? " 

"Oh, yes," said John, "I'm rale weel pleased wi* your 
sermons — they're getting better and better every Sabbath.** 

" In what respect ? " 

"They're gettin' shorter and shorter, sir." 



94 l^f^ Ministers Fiddle. 

" Ah, John ! yeVe gettin* fond o' yer joke," and the minister 
showed his common sense, by laughing with others, at his own 
expense. 

*' Guidwife ! is the tea ready ? we will have oor tea and a 
crack." After the tea in those days came the toddy. They 
talked of everything except the fiddle ; and after a glass or two 
the minister said, " I must tell you that I have been spend- 
ing a good deal of my spare time lately learning some fine old 
Scottish tunes, * The Land o' the Leal,' * John Anderson my 
Jo,' ' Auld Robin Gray ' " 

" Eh !" cried John, ** that's my favourite tune ! There's just 
twa Scots tunes I'm fond o*, *Auld Robin Gray,* and the 
* Auld Hunden' " 

" But the Old Hundred's not a Scottish tune." 

" Is't no ! I thocht there was naebody but Scots folk could 
mak' tunes." 

"Ah na, John, ye're wrang there ! It's a German tune." 

" A German Tune ! ! I thocht thae German bodies could 
mak' naething but sausages." 

" Perhaps you would like to hear me playing these tunes ?" 

" Certainly," says John, " certainly ! Bring forth the fiddle !" 

Forth came the fiddle — a huge bass fiddle — and the clergy- 
man played some tunes with exquisite taste and feeling. The 
two men, as they ought to have been, were charmed — for, 
though elders of the kirk, they were still human beings. 

" Eh ! we never heard sic grand music a' our lives. We ay 
kent ye were the best preacher in a' the country side, but 
noo we ken ye're the best fiddler," and as often as he played, 
they praised. At last they shook hands and parted, and 
homewards the deputation went, after thanking him for his 
tea, and toddy, and tunes. 

John was in high fettle, for he was pleased with himself. 
"Tammas! I'm the boy for the clergy. Ye'll no catch me 
sayin' onything ahint their back that I canna say afore their 
face ; the sermons will be a quarter o' an hour shorter, an' ye'll 
see that what I told him about the f " 

" Are'na we twa born idiots — sent to argue against th,e fiddle, 



The Minister's Fiddle. 



95 



and here we've sat an' fiddled an' fuddled the whole nicht 
We'll be a lauchin'-stock to the whole congregation." 

Homeward they went, sad and silent, till they came to 
John's door, when he suddenly stopped (and slapped his leg 
and said) — 

"Eh, Tammas, I see daylight through'd noo! Oor minister's 
perfectly justified in playin' on a fiddle like yon, Yon's nane 
o' yer sinfu' screechin' penny waddin' fiddles that blind fiddlers 
scart upon for bawbees — No! Yon's a respectable fiddle — 
yen's a substantial fiddle — ^yon's a releegions fiddle ! ! 



SINGING ROUND THE WORLD. 



PREFACE. 



The following pages tell the story of the tours undertaken by 
my father during 1 872- 1880. While not exhausting the record 
of his professional travel, this Narrative may be regarded as 
representative and complete in that it details what was literally 
our singing round the world. 

Sailing down the South Atlantic, round the Cape of Good 
Hope, we sang three years throughout the length and breadth 
of Australia and New Zealand. Then voyaging across the 
Pacific, via the Sandwich Islands, we performed a considerable 
tour in California. Journeying over the Transcontinental Rail- 
way, and singing a week among the Mormons, we began a 
Canadian campaign which lasted an autumn, winter, and spring. 
Then, after a series of concerts in outlying Newfoundland, our 
faces were at length homeward turned across the Atlantic. In 
February of 1879, amid the excitement and anxiety attending 
the disastrous opening of the Zulu War, my father sailed for 
South Africa — the tour comprising Cape Colony, the Diamond 
Fields, and Natal. After returning to Scotland for only a 
brief ten days' rest, we set out for a six months' tour of India, 
singing the Songs of Scotland at Parsee Bombay and Hindoo 
Calcutta, amid the scenes of the great Mutiny, and as far north 
as the Punjaub. The wanderings thus sketched form the sub- 
ject of this book. 

Some years previous to these excursions, however, my father 
had paid his first visit to Canada and the United States, and 
had also sailed from New York to California via the Isthmus 
of Panama, an interesting if somewhat anxious undertaking in 



1 2 Preface, 

those days. It chanced that he was invited to assist at the 
San Francisco celebration of the opening of the Transcon- 
tinental Railway, and was among the first to travel over that 
extensive line — a journey otherwise memorable to him from 
the fact that en rotite he had an interview with Brigham 
Young. 

Simply as a tale of travel, this book may have a raison (T^tre 
in describing arduous and adventurous routes, performed by 
means of primitive conveyances, amid a condition of things 
which has disappeared or is fast disappearing from the 
Colonies. As a record of concert tours, it chiefly recounts 
such incidents as were more peculiar to the countries through 
which we journeyed. Our travelling party consisted of ray 
father ; my sisters Helen, Marjory, and Lizzie ; my brothers 
Robert and James, and myself I must not forget to mention 
my mother, who shared with us in our pleasures and toils, and 
who, though not publicly taking part in our professional life, 
contributed so much to our comfort and happiness during our 
years of travel in these far-off lands. The charm to us of these 
wanderings consisted in the fact that, journeying as a family, 
we could as it were carry with us " our ain fireside." 

David Kennedy, Jun. 

fuly, 1884. 




CHAPTER r. 



The Vojige— Port VhiWip—Afdinume—Joha Chinaman— A Chinese Theatre- 
Cabmen— Melbourne Inslilutiona — Pentiidge Stockade — Australiati weather— 
The People of Melbourne- Onr Concerts in Melbourne— ^a/Zaraz—Down a 
Gold Mine— Ballarat Worthies— A Picnic— C7«/d«^- A Farmers' Meeting— 
SandkursI — The Suburbs of " Bcndigo " — £i-i«i:a— Purchasing Coach and 
Hones — A Storm in the Bush. 



About the middle of March, 1872, we sailed from Glasgow to 
Melbourne in the clipper ship " Ben Ledi." Its state-rooms 
were commodious, and just numerous enough to accommodate 
our party, so that we reigned supreme in the saloon. To while 
away the time, we occasionally gave concerts to the sailors. 
. The jolly tars more than once reciprocated by decorating the 
forecastle with bunting and lamps, and inviting us to listen to 
their nautical lays. We of course had with us our small 
travelling piano, which was securely lashed-up in one of the 
hinder compartments. Here we Juniors — under the paternal 
direction — held daily and nightly practice of vocal scales, glees, 
and part-songs. No matter whether the vessel was rolling off 
Madeira, or stagnant for a week in the sweltering calm of the 
tropics, or wildly careering in a ten days' gale far south of the 
Cape, there was the same rigid rehearsal. On one occasion, in 
the height of a storm, each of us holding a candle and swaying 
our bodies to the varying angles of the vessel, there was a 
sudden pitch, a roll, and a crash of waters breaking upon the 



14 Singing Round tJie World, 

deck. My father was violently lurched off his camp-stool, and 
all of us huddled remorselessly into a comer amid black dark- 
ness and stench of extinguished wicks. While thus achieving 
a sufficient measure of ** light and shade," it was somewhat 
difficult to import these qualities into our vocal numbers, so the 
rehearsal was that night abandoned in deference to the tempest 
Otherwise, our ship-board life was not more eventful than com- 
monly befalls the Australian voyager. We caught the usual 
albatross, and killed the customary shark. The passage, how- 
ever, was exceptionally protracted, as it was not until dawn of 
a Sunday in June — when we had been all but a hundred days 
on board — that the " Ben Ledi " rounded Cape Otway, the 
mountainous promontory of the Victorian coast, and shortly 
afterwards entered Port Phillip Bay, at the head of which stood 
Melbourne, its towers and spires showing dimly through the 
dust that blew over tlie city. On the left lay the port of 
Williamstown, our desired haven, which was reached late in the 
afternoon. 

A short railway ride brought us to the city, and an Albert 
car conveyed us to Scott's hotel. After disposing of a sump- 
tuous meal, we took a moonlight peep at Melbourne, inaug- 
urating our walk by purchasing at a fruit shop a magnificent 
pine-apple for sixpence. Bourke Street, the principal business 
thoroughfare, was filled with a busy crowd promenading before 
gaily-lighted shops and gas-flaring stands — the housewife with 
her basket, intent on purchases ; the native Australian youth 
or " corn-stalk " ; the Chinaman, with his stereotyped face ; 
lounging fellows with big beards and tall slouched hats ; 
Frenchman and German ; English, Scotch, and Irish — all 
blending in one common throng. 

Melbourne, at this time, had a population of 200,000 — a 
fourth of the inhabitants of the colony of Victoria. The city 
stands on the Yarra Yarra River — a little stream, sylvan near 
Melbourne ; but further down, afflicted with the stench of 
chemical works and tanneries. It is very tortuous, and takes 
eight miles to go from Melbourne to the Bay, which, as the 
crow flies, is scarcely a third of that distance. Viewed from 



Melbotime. 15 

an eminence, the river resembles a liquid cork-screw. The 
principal streets of the city are one mile long, 100 feet wide, 
and run at right angles. The drainage is open, a stream of 
water running down each side of the street, with small wooden 
bridges for foot-passengers. Every house and shop has its 
verandah. The first thing that strikes the stranger as peculiar 
is, that lofty warehouses stand side by side with one-storied 
workshops ; grand stone-built stores hob-nob with low wooden 
shanties ; and stately churches rise in close proximity to 
timber-yards, tinsmiths' shops, and small public-houses. 

Collins Street is the most regularly-built thoroughfare. At 
its intersection by Russel Street, is the monument erected to 
Burke and Wills, the famous explorers of the Australian 
Continent. Close to it stands the large and costly Presbyterian 
Church — its site one of the finest in Melbourne, and the lofty 
spire, a noble feature in the sky-line. Further down Collins 
Street is the stately Town Hall, with a lofty tower. Bourke 
Street boasts the principal places of amusement. Here, too, is 
"Paddy's Market," where tropic and temperate fruits and 
excellent vegetables may be obtained. In this street the mis- 
cellaneous business of the city is transacted, with a strange 
mixture of nationalities. Moses, Levi and Abraham will be 
happy to sell you all descriptions of cigars, pipes, and tobacco ; 
Sprachen & Herr can supply unlimited varieties of fancy goods 
and colonial - made jewellery ; Moosoo, Adolphus & Co., 
possess an excellent stock of furniture and "French polish"; 
and Ah Ching, Ah Wing, & Chum Foo have on hand a large 
assortment of tea, opium and Chinese curiosities. 

In Little Bourke Street, the Celestials, with excusable clan- 
nishness, have gathered themselves together. At nearly every 
door you see " John " lounging and smoking, or grinning feebly 
at you as you pass. We see the gambling saloon with its 
group of avaricious speculators, and its windowful of " lucky " 
papers ; the tea warehouse ; the opium shop, with its vacant- 
eyed customers ; and the lottery shop, presided over by a 
priestly hoary-haired Chinaman. Some Chinamen gain a 
livelihood as pedlars, their goods slung on a long bamboo, by 



1 6 Singing Round the World. 

which they can carry great weights on their shoulders. They 
are frequently to be seen at back-doors, chatting with the 
servant-girls, and trying to dispose of their wares at a good 
profit. 

One evening we went to the Chinese theatre, held in a booth 
at the head of Little Bourke Street. The tent was surrounded 
by a noisy crowd of eaves-dropping street-arabs and loafers. 
Paying our shilling we entered, and saw an audience of eighty 
or ninety Chinamen. Wc took our stand beside one of them, 
asking him to explain the " plot ;" but he declined the task, as 
he had left China when he was only ** one moon old." The 
stage was like an inverted proscenium — the '* foot-lights *' being 
placed above the heads of the actors, who raised their faces 
towards the lamps when any strong emotion had to be ex- 
hibited. Behind the performers, at the back of the stage, sat 
the orchestra, numbering two, who played Celestial airs on a 
monotonous gong and a wearisome one-stringed fiddle. The 
entrance of any great character was the occasion of a furious 
burst of sound, which subsided when he spoke, but was im- 
mediately resumed upon the conclusion of a sentence. No 
scenery graced the stage, the dramatis personm appearing from 
behind two tapestried curtains. The drama was relieved by 
an incident not in the programme. A shower of missiles, 
thrown by the rabble outside, came flying through the roof of 
the tent, and alighted on the heads of an emperor and chief 
mandarin, who were instantly carried from the stage amid the 
shrill jabbering of the audience, the play methodically proceed- 
ing as before. Imagine the effect upon an English audience of 
seeing their favourite Hamlet carried off at the wings danger- 
ously wounded by bricks hurled in at the skylights ! 

Naturally, we came frequently in contact with the Melbourne 
cabmen, many of whom were waifs from the diggings. In 
appearance, the Jehu is a respectable fellow, and on entering 
his cab or Albert car, you are soon put at your ease, as he talks 
in a friendly manner that is quite assuring : — 

" Ah ! you admire them houses, do you, sir ? — well, what 
would you think of seeing them all trees, sir — all bush, nothing 



TJu Melbourfte Cabmen, 17 

but tents ? — that's what I saw when I came out here twenty 
years ago this very month. I left the missus an' young folks 
at home, an* sailed for the diggings in '52 — yes, sir, an' I made 
some thousands of pounds up at Ballarat I wouldn't like to 
tell you how much I made — indeed, I wouldn't. I took the 
gold out in bucketfuls — didn't sift the gold from the dirt ; that 
was too much trouble, sir — I took the dirt from the gold. Yes, 
I built a hotel up there, and it was crammed from week's end 
to week's end. My word ! the coin I put away then ! But I 
was a fool in those days, sir. I was too free, too generous, too- 
open-hearted — spent all my earnings among my chums. I took 
to the drink, sir, bad ; an' the money went as fast as it came. 
Then I lost the run of my luck, an' had to sell out an' come 
down to Melbourne a cab-driving. You'll be wondering, sir, at 
seeing me holding the reins, but a chap's got to be humble in 
this world sometimes, you know. It's my own horse an' cab, 
sir ; all my own property ; but it don't make up for the good 
old times. Get off at this corner, sir ? — good-day, sir." 

And away he goes in his Albert car, a vehicle memorable to- 
us by reason of an accident that occurred one evening while 
driving down Bourke Street. We had reached a very steep 
portion of the road, which was slippery owing to recent rain, 
when the horse fell, the shafts flying into fragments and the 
front-seat passengers rolling out over the unfortunate minimal ; 
while my sisters had to be taken down by a ladder from the 
back of the vehicle. 

A pleasing feature of Melbourne is its beautiful parks and 
reserves. The Botanical and Fitzroy Gardens are the two 
principal resorts, the former containing tropical and British 
plants, growing side by side in the open air, and the latter laid 
out in beautiful walks and ornamented with classical statues. 
Again, material prosperity does not shut out a due recognition 
of the Arts and Sciences. There is a fine University ; also a 
Public Library of 80,000 volumes. One night we heard a 
spirited debate in the Legislative Assembly, an ample, well- 
seated, and excellently lighted chamber. The subject was 
the re-arrangement of tariffs, and the discussion of course 



1 8 Singing Round the World, 

involved hard-hitting at Free Trade and Protection, to which 
latter Victoria pins its faith. 

Nominally there are no poorhouses or workhouses in Mel- 
bourne. But there are kindred institutions — a Benevolent 
Asylum and an Orphan Asylum. Important buildings also 
are Melbourne and Alfred Hospitals. The Blind Asylum is 
another noteworthy institution, where the inmates, in addition 
to useful trades, are instructed in music, occasional concerts 
being given in the Town Hall ; while of equal interest is the 
Deaf and Dumb Institution, where the scholars are taught by 
an elaborate system of signs grafted on their usual alphabet. 
The faculty of the pupils for mimicry is very great, and the 
superintendent cultivates it for their mutual amusement. His- 
torical tableaux are arranged for the gratification of visitors, 
the scholars being chosen according to their real or fancied 
resemblance to Biblical or other characters. We were not 
favoured upon our visit with any special exhibition, the superin- 
tendent lamenting that he could not show us the spectacle of 
''Abraham oflfcring up Isaac ;" for though Isaac was still in the in- 
stitution, yet Abraham had gone to Tasmania to see his friends. 

One day we visited the great penal establishment at Pent- 
ridge, a few miles from Melbourne. This famous prison, or 
^* Stockade," to which we were kindly invited by the Presby- 
terian Chaplain, contained 600 convicts. Inside we found the 
prisoners alphabetically arranged (A, B, and C), into various 
stages of wickedness. It was stated that our view of the 
Stockade would be limited, as the establishment was in great 
anxiety owing to the attempt of one of the prisoners the 
previous afternoon to murder Mr. Duncan, the Inspector- 
General, who was severely wounded. Passing along the first 
corridor, we heard scuffling and yells, and through an open 
cell-door saw the murderous prisoner struggling in the arms of 
two warders. Hurriedly moving on, we were presently locked 
up for a short time in the dreaded '* Dark Cell," where how- 
ever we performed a part-song ! This dungeon is virtually 
sound-tight relatively to the rest of the building, any shout or 
yell being carried up through the roof by a long iron pipe. 



" How do you like Melbourne ? " 19 

Here we were told numerous stories of attempted escapes. A 
short time before, three men had for three days secreted them- 
selves under the zinc covering of the roof, and were discovered 
almost dead from the extreme heat, the roof being fully exposed 
to the summer sun. Before leaving, wc looked in at two halls 
where choirs were practising. In one place a group of sturdy 
Wesleyan felons were vigorously engaged over a hymn ; and 
in another, up in a gallery, Episcopalian convicts harmoniously 
rendering " Hark ! the herald angels sing," while a man in a 
canvas coat, with F.A.D. on the back of it, accompanied on a 
harmonium. 

As the cold weather had just set in, wc had twelve weeks* 
experience of an Australian winter, which was a failure as 
regards inclemency, the sunny days far out-numbering the rainy. 
Now and thew there appeared light "mackerel" clouds, "downy 
feathers," and " horse tails," as they are called, that seemed to 
be switching the heavens to a most delicate blue. There was 
an exhilarating sparkle in the air — one seemed to be breathing 
brilliance — inhaling aerial champagne. 

The people of Melbourne are bustling and energetic. There 
is still perceptible a flavour of the prodigal generosity of the 
early " digging days." The folks are very warm-hearted, off- 
hand, and not troubled with burdensome conventionalities. The 
fashions, however, hold as important a place in Melbourne as 
in any capital of Europe, which is incontestably shown upon a 
fine afternoon when the aristocracy promenade the northern 
side of Collins Street, "doing the block," as it is colonially 
called. The inhabitants arc very jealous of the good name of 
their town, and on all occasions urge the new-comer to express 
his opinion of it The vital question, " How do you like Mel- 
bourne ? " was poured into our ears day and night We had it 
at our meals, encountered it in our walks, and had volleys of it 
at evening parties. We were asked the fatal opinion in crowded 
railway carriages ; questioned by acquaintances who cropped 
up in omnibuses ; saluted with the query by " companions of 
the bath ; " and addressed in all the varied circumstances in 
which it is possible to meet your fellow-man. Luckily a favour- 



20 Singing Round Hie World. 

able answer could be given to their enquiries, for we admired 
their fine city almost as much as did the residents themselves. 

Our entertainment of Scottish Song ran for fifty-two nights 
on our first visit to Melbourne. The building chosen was the 
new Temperance Hall, capable of holding over one thousand 
persons. It was situated in Russel Street, and as its lofty and 
spacious gable commanded a neighbouring and important 
thoroughfare, it entered into the head of our manager to cover 
the wall with a huge canvas announcement I forget of how 
many square yards it consisted, but an ** ornamental painter '* 
was occupied several days in executing the mammoth-lettered 
advertisement in an extensive studio. At length the immense 
sign was safely secured to the gable, and was voted a success 
by some of the more gossipy prints of the city. Once, during 
a high gale, a large portion of the canvas " fetched away," in 
nautical phrase, and flapped so portentously, that one or two 
men had to be sent up with instructions either to replace it in 
position, or to take in two or three reefs. 

By frequent change of programme we secured large numbers 
of regular attenders, who latterly looked on certain seats as 
their right — some facetiously terming them their " pew " — the 
illusion being increased by many of the audience holding sittings 
in the hall, which was temporarily used on Sundays by one of 
the Scotch Kirks. We were told that amongst our most ardent 
adherents was a Glasgow tailor, who systematically put aside 
ten shillings a week, saying, " That's for the Kennedy's." We 
had also the compliment of a noticeable clerical element in our 
audience. A story was current of two Scotch ministers meeting 
in Collins Street one evening, and holding only a brief chat. 
" Excuse me," said the one, " but I have a very pressing engage- 
ment." " And I too," replied the other clergyman ; " I have a 
most important meeting to attend to-night." They hurriedly 
parted, went different ways, and five minutes afterwards con- 
fronted each other at the pay-box of " Kennedy's Sangs !" 

Ballarat, the second city of Victoria, is lOO miles by rail from 
Melbourne. It has a population of some 47,000, and is pos- 
sessed of fine streets. Sturt Street is surprisingly wide, with 



Down a Gold Mine, 21 

reserves of trees running down the centre of the thoroughfare. 
Though most of the city is well built, much of it is narrow, 
tortuous, and uneven. The irregular streets are those formed 
along the line of a gold " lead " or claim in the palmy old days, 
— the historic ground of memorable nuggets. The south side 
of the town we found to be a wilderness of gold "claims." All 
around were innumerable heap's of sand surmounted by wind- 
lasses, with here and there a head and pick momentarily visible, 
— the scene a wholesale mutilation of nature. There were 
Chinamen, too, working the refuse or " tailings," and some in 
their eagerness sweeping the very dust of the road, — an act 
forbidden in the streets under a heavy penalty. If ever a city 
was " paved with gold," it is Ballarat 

One day my brothers and I went down that famous alluvial 
mine the "Band of Hope." We put on a complete miner's 
dress — a greasy canvas cap, a coarse flannel shirt, a dirt- 
bespattered blouse, thick worsted stockings, and voluminous, 
lengthy pants, the surplus of which we stuffed into a pair of 
knee-high Wellington boots. Equipped with candles, we went 
down in the iron cage. I was strangely tempted to look 
upwards, but our companion, a stalwart miner, cried : " For 
goodness' sake, sir, don't look up ; why, only the other day a 
man had his brains scooped out agin' the shaft doin' the same 
thing ; an* another fellow had an eye knocked out by a bit of 
stuff falling in his face : besides a chum o' mine that had a leg 
completely jammed to a jelly atween the woodwork and the 
cage ; so keep your head well inside o' my arm, sir !" We 
came to the 500 feet level, where we stepped off, the cage going 
downwards a hundred and odd feet more. A grey horse stood 
near, looking sleek and comfortable enough, waiting to draw 
empty trucks back to the various " drives." We each jumped 
into one of the empty trucks, and after what appeared an 
interminable ride, arrived at a distant part of the workings. 
We came to a "jump up," communicating with a higher level 
of the workings ; but we found the rope of the cage had broken, 
to the disablement of an Irishman, who hopped up to us rub- 
bing a limb, and trying to look invalided, though it chanced he 



22 Singing Round the World, 

was more frightened than hurt As the ordinary means of 
communication had failed, we climbed up an iron ladder eighty 
feet high, placed in a shaft 2 feet wide, just large enough to 
admit the body. The ascent was no mean trial of the nerves, 
as the iron rounds of the ladder were wet and slippery. I 
climbed with my left hand, holding the candle in my right, an 

• 

unlucky stream of water latterly extinguishing the light We 
emerged at last into a large open space, where the principal 
mining operations were being carried on. The place seemed 
like a forest, the feeble candlelight showing us immense up- 
right timbers supporting the lofty roof, the beams growing 
fainter and fainter in perspective till lost in the darkness. Here 
and there a light twinkled. 

We saw a number of men busy upon a " facing " — a wall of 
earth or a ledge of rock in process of detachment or excava- 
tion. Upon our expressing a strong desire to see gold in its 
natural state, one of the miners exclaimed that he had found a 
speck, but it turned out to be smaller than a pin-head, and we 
had to flatten our nose in the dirt, with an eye in the candle, 
before we saw it As a rule, the men scarcely ever see the 
" colour of gold." The earth has to be " washed" in large quan- 
tities to make it pay, and it takes about a ton of dirt to yield 
five or six pennyweights of gold. I may add that this mine 
is the most important in or near Ballarat In the year 1867 
it yielded ;^6o,ooo in fort>'-four days — a memorable seven 
weeks' work. 

One day we saw a poor-looking old man posting our pla- 
cards in the street His face was spotted with paste, and his 
clothes threadbare. He was once rich, and had a fine hotel ; 
made money during the gold rushes, and was elected mayor of 
a town not far from Ballarat ; failed either in business or gold- 
mining, and gradually sank to his present humble position. 
We found him to be a philosopher, " not above his work," as 
he said, while his conversation was sprinkled with moral pre- 
cepts and maxims that had a certain charm when coming from 
a bill-sticker. In the same street we saw a homely-looking 
man, dressed in plain clothes, with a red-spotted handkerchief 



Ballarat Worthies, 23 

hanging out of his pocket He had the look of a decent 
farmer, was slightly bent, and leant upon a thick stick. This 
was the richest man in Ballarat, and called "Jock" from his 
nationality. Originally an Edinburgh butcher, he came out to 
Victoria comparatively poor, and seems to have acquired 
wealth by always luckily possessing land that some person else 
urgently wanted. His life seems to have been a continual 
** buying-out" Once he had a farm, which a number of 
speculators desired for mining purposes. They offered him 
jCSOOO — ^;6^io,ooo — £20yO0O — till finally the master of the situa- 
tion closed with the magnificent sum of ;^30,ooo. But the 
speculators had not yet got rid of him. He required the 
money to be counted out in his own presence and in his own 
house, and that not merely in notes, which he religiously 
avoided, but in sterling gold. 

A pic-nic at Kirk's Dam was arranged for our special delight 
by a worthy Scotsman, town-councillor, and veritable stranger's 
friend. Kirk's Dam is a delicious nook, a forest-encircled sheet 
of water, artificially constructed for the supply of the city. On 
its grassy banks was spread an elegant lunch This was 
startlingly diversified by the capture of a poisonous black snake, 
three feet long, which one of the company triumphantly brought 
along on the end of a stick. The reptile was hung over a fence 
for the general inspection, many of the old colonists in our party 
never having seen a snake. Returning home, we passed Lake 
Wendouree, a small sheet of water graced with row-boats and 
pleasure yachts. Close to its shores are the Botanical Gardens, 
with verdant lawns and extensive gravel walks, one of the latter 
a mile in length 

Our footsteps were next turned to Geelong, once the second 
city of the colony, but Ballarat, with its gold discoveries, having 
shot ahead, has kept the lead. The town is busy during the 
summer, when pleasure-seekers troop in from all parts of the 
colony. The salt-water baths are a great attraction, the bathing- 
ground being staked in to keep out the sharks that infest the 
Bay. They are a very hospitable people in Geelong, fond of 
bazaars, tea-meetings, and evening parties. We felt rather 



24 Singing Round the Worlds 

taxed upon one occasion when we had to dance in a hot 
crowded room, with the thermometer at 8cy». I think that was 
the figure; but I am painfully certain it stood at 120° about 
midday. The party, who seemed composed of salamanders, 
danced indefatigably until the cooler hours of early morn. 

Next day brought an experience of the abominable "hot 
wind." For many years this wind was a mystery. In the early 
days it was conjectured that it came from interior wastes, where 
the baked surface reflected back the fierce rays of the sun ; and 
though recent explorers have found no absolute desert in the 
heart of the continent, yet the old speculation may be so far 
correct, that the large extent of uncultivated country does not 
absorb the heat as it might do if properly tilled and irrigated. 
We have not one good word for the hot wind. On this occasion 
the dust rose in immense cones and pyramids, drifted against 
the doors and windows, and enveloped struggling pedestrians. 
The gale blew the whole day and far into the night — the heat 
and the whistling and groaning of the wind almost banishing 
sleep. In the morning a southern breeze brought a heavy 
downfall of rain, the hissing sound of which was sweetest music. 
The sky brightened, the healthy, cool winds blew in from the 
^ea Ah ! 

The country round Geelong is agricultural. One day we 
drove to a Scottish farmer's house some fifteen miles out. The 
day was overpoweringly hot, and the road hilly, but we arrived 
in time to enjoy the hospitality of our host Among many 
good things provided ^was a complimentary basin of " kail 
broth.'* Upon our return journey we stopped at the village of 
Ceres, and found ourselves in the midst of a jolly gathering of 
Scottish farmers. Old memories came crowding round them, 
and many volunteered songs. One said he would give a fabu- 
lous sum to hear such and such a song ; another said he would 
sing a ballad he had not sung for the last fifteen years — a pro- 
posal received with acclamation. A loud chorus accompanied 
this song, and choruses became the order of the evening. One 
farmer produced a large volume of Scottish music, and searched 
for his favourite song. Another started up and proposed they 



TJie Suburbs of Bendigo. 25 

should sing the whole book through — a motion received with 
hearty cheers, but forgotten next minute in the vehement chorus 
of " Auld Lang Syne," ingeniously started by some individual 
who wished to draw the meeting to a close. 

From Geelong we went to Sandhurst or " Bendigo," 100 miles 
north of Melbourne. It is an arid city, large and scattered — a 
place diluted with distance. On a hill in the outskirts stands a 
row of chimneys, marking the reef-line of the most celebrated 
mine in the district — the Great Extended Hustlers. Fine streets 
stretch in various directions, with, in many cases, handsome 
buildings, their elegant outlines standing out strangely against 
a background of smoke, chemical vapours, and steam. The 
principal street — Pall Mall — is fronted by a cool, shady, grassy, 

reserve Puff! snort! creak! puff! What is this? — steam is 

rising behind that clump of trees. Looking closer, we see in all 
their hideousness a poppet-head, a steam-engine, and the open 
mouth of a mine. Along the pavements you see wooden pegs 
stuck in the ground marking the boundary lines of claims, and 
bearing the name of the mine in bold characters. This Pall 
Mall, however, had quite a metropolitan appearance on Satur- 
day night, when the shops were brilliantly lighted and the 
street thronged with people listening to the brass band in the 
balcony of a large hotel. The bank windows that same evening 
were also great attractions, as the gold cakes of the different 
companies were being exhibited — the meltings for the past 
week, fortnight, or month. The large masses of gold were 
guarded by wire screens — one window containing ;£"! 8,000 
worth of the precious metal, and another ;£^20,ooo worth. 

Walking out to one of the suburbs on a very hot day we 
rested ourselves beside two Chinamen, who were engaged with 
a " cradle " in sifting cast-off " tailings." We inquired about 
their luck, and the younger turned out his sieve with great glee, 
showing us "one speck," with an air of acquired fortune. The 
elder Chinamen then asked us in broken English where we 
came from ; and being told " Scotland," he brightened up, and 
said patron isingly, he had heard of the place. Before leaving, 
my father sang "Allister McAllister" to their great delight, 

B 



26 Singing Round tlie World. 

though one may question the fitness of singing the least intelli- 
gible of Scottish songs to the most foreign of foreigners. 
Further on we entered a Chinese shop and bought a Chinese 
book. It was illustrated profusely with woodcuts. After some 
haggling we gave eighteenpence for it " Nice book, John ? ^ 
" Welly good book ! " — at which the surrounding pig-tails were 
convulsed with laughter. We seized a passing Chinaman — 
" Read this ! *' " Ah ! welly good book — one year book — days^ 
moons — last year book — him no good now !" The rascally 
Chinese had sold us an old almanac ! 

In Sandhurst we became acquainted with two of its principal 
characters, whom we shall call Messrs. Smith and Jones. Their 
career had been a mixture of luck, pluck, and perseverance. 
They came from Ireland with their better-halves about twenty 
years ago. They were close friends, and agreed to go shares in 
every undertaking. On landing in Sandhurst their purse was 
limited, and they spent their all in purchasing a waggon and 
two horses, with which they carried goods to the goldfields. 
This vehicle was converted at night into a two-storey house, 
Mr. and Mrs. Smith occupying the interior of the waggon, while 
Mr. and Mrs. Jones slept underneath. As the goods-carrying 
business prospered, Smith and Jones came to be proprietors of 
a small cottage, in which they were one day digging a cellar^ 
when lo! a bright stream of water bubbled up to the joy of the 
two Irishmen ; for water was a scarcity, and brought from a 
long distance at great expense. The two friends carefully 
tapped the stream, and sold water to the miners at one shilling 
a bucketful — another source of increasing revenue. By various 
steps they rose to be the proprietors of two fine hotels. 

We have a vivid recollection of a large public school in the 
vicinity of the town, kept by an Aberdonian, who exercises 
rigid authority over some hundreds of scholars. After school 
had been dismissed in stern, regimental fashion, the dancing 
class commenced. Half-a-dozen boys and girls entered the 
•class-room, marshalled by an elderly dame, another Aberdonian^ 
who unfolded to the rising generation the mysteries of High- 
land reels, flings, and strathspeys. It would have done a Celtic 



Echuca. 27 

heart good to have seen the lady tripping round the room 
followed by her juvenile charge, who executed the same 
manoeuvres like so many shadows, hooking their elbows and 
snapping their thumbs in true Highland manner. 

From Sandhurst we went north to Echuca, 166 miles from 
Melbourne, and situated on the river Murray, the boundary 
between Victoria and New South Wales. The main street is 
full of red brick stores and wooden houses, each end of the 
street terminating in rough wild bush — which bush lurks in 
bkck-yards and gardens, and creeps in at all corners — Echuca 
seeming to have settled down bodily in the forest, and scraped 
itself a resting-place. It was founded in 1853, when there was 
no railway, and when people did not care to settle in such a 
remote district ; but during the great spluttering rush to the 
Bendigo gold-fields, some splashes of population found their 
way as far north as Echuca. 

Along the banks of the Murray were traces of the great flood 
of 1870, which rendered Echuca amphibious for many days. 
The hotel we lived at had been severely damaged by this flood. 
The ceiling in the sitting-room showed two yawning gaps, and 
the plaster was coming down in flakes the whole time we were 
there; but assurance was given that no dangerously large 
pieces had fallen for some time. We happened to look in one 
morning at the Town Hall, where a half-caste was charged 
with committing an assault upon the son of a squatter. There 
were present two justices on the bench, a clerk, the prosecutor, 
and witnesses, flanked by a sergeant of police, a local con- 
stable, a trooper booted and spurred, and a miscellaneous 
crowd of townsfolk. The black man was ordered to be re- 
moved to the lock-up for twelve hours. The Town Hall is 
divided by folding doors into a court of justice and a concert- 
room, and in the latter we gave our entertainment that same 
evening. Amongst the audience we saw our friends of the 
morning — the two justices, the clerk of the court, the com- 
plainant, the witnesses, the policeman, and the trooper — all but 
the prisoner, who, we were told, was unable to attend, as his 



28 Singing Round the World. 

sentence would not expire till an hour after the concert had 
concluded ! 

At Castlemaine, a thriving town, we took our leave of the 
railway, as we had mapped out some thousands of miles of 
bush-travelling. We went one morning to a hotel-yard to see 
an American waggon, with a square-built body, and glazed 
leather roof. The vehicle was hung upon " thorough-braces," 
two or three layers of leather belts bound together with clamps 
— iron springs being useless for Australian travelling, save in 
the case of light carts and buggies. The proprietor of this 
coach was in the " show " line, and had travelled most of the 
colony with this same waggon. " Here's the machine, gentle- 
men." We examined it carefully, fingered the bolts and nuts, 
jerked the wheels, measured our limbs on the box seat, un- 
rolled the side curtains, moved the moveable seats, and 
scrutinized the condition of naves, tires, and axles. Every* 
thing was satisfactory, but we got a practical wheelwright to 
examine the vehicle — verdict, good for its age. " Here's the 
horses, gentlemen " — three stout, middle-aged horses, on which 
we got a veterinary surgeon to give his opinion — verdict, horses 
as excellent as they were old. " And here's the driver, gentle- 
men " — a short, red-haired Irishman, on whom we pronounced 
our own favourable verdict We bought the whole " turn-out," 
and engaged the driver. Next morning the equipage drove up 
to the hotel door, the leading grey horse prancing in a way to 
make one proud. We packed the coach, building up the back 
part with luggage. Imagine the rack carefully strapped and 
roped up ; imagine four of us inside, and two on the box ; 
imagine — no, you cannot imagine — how we tore down the 
principal street and out into the country, bowling along a 
capital road, with the horses fresh, the day auspicious, a fine 
breeze blowing, and the landscape interesting. We had scarcely 
begun to feci the full sense of proprietorship when we rattled, 
with a succession of loud whip-cracks, into the paved courtyard 
of the hotel at Kyneton. 

This was a quiet agricultural township. We drove out by 
invitation to a farmhouse five miles distant — a comfortable 



A Stortn in t/ie Bush. 29 

dwelling of four rooms, stone-built and plain. There was a hole 
by the fire-place, with a large brick lying alongside, and we 
said laughingly to the goodwife, " You're fully prepared for the 
rats and mice, we see." "Mice!" she exclaimed, "weVe no 
mice here ; it's a snake. We keep the brick off through the 
day, because we can see to kill the creature ; but we put the 
brick on at dusk, in case it gets out — I don't like the idea of the 
beast crawling through the house in the night-time !" The 
farm was situated on the banks of the Campaspe, amid softly 
swelling hills. A fine orchard overlooked the river, and being 
December, the trees were loaded with plums, apples, pears, and 
cherries of great size. The river Campaspe, which, strange to 
say, flows inland a hundred miles northwards to the Murray, 
was dry when we saw it, with a deep water-hole appearing here 
and there in the bed of the river, — a wonderful provision of 
Australian nature, by which man and beast can -quench their 
thirst in the dead heat of summer. Wc accepted the fact as 
one of the numerous wonders poked at you by the Australians : 
— " Our seasons and months do not agree with yours ; our 
cherries, as you see, grow stone outermost ; our north wind is 
warm ; and our gum-trees shed their bark instead of their 
leaves." 

Soon after we encountered a bush-storm, while crossing the 
ranges near Mount Macedon. The wind tore over the hills, 
sweeping the rain before it in masses of spray. On every side 
flew branches of trees. Close by us, a giant of the forest rent 
asunder near its base, and slowly tottering, fell with an alarm- 
ing crash amid clouds of earth. The sky was inky black, rent 
by lightning. The road was strewn with fallen trees, enormous 
limbs, branches, uptorn roots, and white flakes of timber. In 
several instances the fences had been destroyed on both sides 
of the track by the fall of more than usually lofty trees. 
Happily we escaped unscathed from the perils of the ranges. 



Singing Round the World. 



CHAPTER II. 

The "Stony Rises"— A Squatting Station— A Drove of Kangaroos— The Bush 
and Bush Roads — The Middle Diggings — Coaching lo Sidney. 

In January, 1873, we commenced a tour in the western or 
pastoral district of Victoria. Before leaving the metropolis my 
father and mother invested in a horse and buggy, as they found 
the coach too fatiguing. The first stage of the journey con- 
sisted of a steamboat sail from Melbourne to Geelong, whence 
we started on our coach journey. We stayed a night at Win- 
chelsea, and spent two days at Colac Leaving Colac, we 
entered upon flat country — the coach running quietly along a 
sofl earthy road. I sat half asleep upon the box, while Patrick, 
our driver, trolled out some Irish love-song, stamping the time 
cheerily with his right foot I had become tired of counting 
the telegraph posts, and staring ahead for white milestones. 
Every now and then the hot sunshine would glow on my face, 
making me unspeakably drowsy. Heigho ! A violent nudge 
on the elbow from Patrick. " Hillo now, wake up, wake up; 
don't you know we're just driving through the Stony Rises !" 
We suddenly come, with all the pleasantness of a transition in 
music, upon a lovely collection of hills, volcanic in origin, 
shaded by trees, and strewn with innumerable boulders, between 
which grew clusters of fern or bracken. For several miles 
the road wound amid miniature glens and charming dells, with 
the same delightful blending of bracken and boulder. Presently 
Lake Korangamite gleamed upon our right — the largest ex- 
panse of salt water in Victoria, being eighty miles in circum- 
ference and twenty miles long. It is supposed to be formed 
upon the site of an extinct volcano, and the peculiar saltness to 
be due to the drainage of the basaltic rock. Most of the 
country in Western Victoria is volcanic, and possesses rich soil. 
Approaching Camperdown, we saw a hill of a conical shape. 



A Squatting Station. 31 

called the " Sugar-Loaf." Whenever you see a cone-shaped 
peak in Australia, be sure and call it the " Sugar-Loaf/* In 
nine cases out of ten you will be right Camperdown, a 
number of detached one-storey houses, lining a thoroughfare 
two hundred feet wide, is merely a continuation into the town 
of the main road. This extreme width of street dwarfs the 
buildings, but gives one an enjoyable feeling of space, freedom, 
and fresh air. The road has a broad margin of grass upon 
either side, called the " Poor Man's Paddock." This is used by 
stockdrivers for pasturing their cattle upon a long journey, and 
by passing travellers for their horses. 

Here we first saw an aboriginal black. He appeared at the 
hotel-door in a white hat, a light linen coat, and tattered grey 
trousers. He had a flat nose, thick lips, dark black eyes, and 
straight hair. He made us a long speech, rather incoherent, 
owing to whisky and broken English. Then he whiningly 
begged for a "lickspince" (sixpence), and went off, making 
exaggerated salutes. Most of the western towns have a black ; 
and this one, for distinction's sake, was called " Camperdown 
George." Government supplies with clothes, meat, and tobacco, 
any native who will reside in a particular township, but vagrant 
life is too strong a temptation for them. A gentleman in 
Camperdown informed us that he had officially given away 
about £$00 worth of clothing to the natives, but that most of it 
had been found scattered over various parts of the country. 
No one is allowed to sell drink to the aborigine, but the latter 
turns his clothes into money, and gets the first available white 
man to purchase the whisky. 

Here, in Western Victoria, reigns the squatter. He is no 
rough customer, but a pushing gentleman, full of care and fore- 
thought He lives in a handsome villa on his propert}'', enjoy- 
ing his fine table, his wine, his library, and his garden. He is 
the landed aristocrat of Australia Through the kindness of a 
squatter living near Camperdown, we had a glimpse of life at a 
sheep-station. His house lay some eight miles away, on the 
brow of a hill. We approached it through extensive sheep-runs 
and paddocks, arriving at the house through a closely-shaded 



32 Singing Round tfu Worid. 

avenue of trees, and along a well-planned terrace garden. We 
had always regarded a squatter's house as a kind of rural habit- 
ation, a farm house on an extensive scale ; but here we saw an 
elegant verandahed building surrounded by sloping gardens, 
and uniting all the homeliness of rural life with the luxuries of 
modern society. Previous to. dinner we ascended the hill. Our 
host gave us the tojiography of the district — how his station 
extended to that fence, that dark line away in the distance — 
how it took in most of what we saw on the left hand — oh, no, 
that lake did not belong to him — that was Mr. Smith's lake — 
that hill there, however, was his ; but the mountain further 
away was purchased recently by Mr. Jones, and now called 
Jones's Hill. After dinner we were mounted on stock-horses, 
in order to visit the sheep-washing sheds some miles off. Here 
the sheep have their wool made white, free from grease, and fit 
for market. , The sheep arc first driven into a large tank full of 
soap and warm water, then rinsed in a cold water tank, with 
the addition of a sho(ver bath. After this Turkish batli the 
sheep arc taken to the wool-shed, where they remain overnight 
to drj', the shearers setting to work upon them early in the 
morning. The men are paid 155. per lOO sheep, and a skilled 
hand can shear sixty in ten hours. 

This was peculiarly a sheep-station. At Terang, a village 
fourteen miles further west, we visited a cattle-station of 1 1,000 
acres, with 3000 horses and cattle. The house was of stone, 
with a large fruit garden and two or three croquet lawns. 
Water pipes, supplying the cattle troughs, had recently been 
laid out at an expense of jC^CCO. Lake Keilambete adjoins 
the station, the opposite side being occupied by "free selectors," 
We spent a Sunday in Terang, attending the Presbyterian 
Church in the afternoon. The congregation assembled in true 
country fa.shion from miles round. Men and women rode up 
to the door, and hitched their horses to the church-paling; 
others drove up in buggies and carts. There was one service 
every Sunday, supported chiefly by the landowners round 
about. The minister had a verj- comfortable position, with a 



A Drove of Kangaroos, 33 

very short service — " In fact," he said to us with a quiet look 
" I daren't keep the*squatters more than an hour." 

The road to Mortlake, our next stage, lay through extensive 
cattle-runs, the coach winding about as if engaged in a gum- 
tree quadrille. We were in high spirits, and the driver had 
just begun to whistle the symphony to his love-ballad, 
when 

See, see I haul up the horses ! by all that's wonderful, a kan- 
garoo! a real, live kangaroo, right in the middle of the track, its 
eyes staring directly towards us, its languid forepaws preparing 
for a leap. There it is off! Hooray! it has cleared the high fence, 
tail and all, with feet to spare, bounding through the forest, 
scattering the dry leaves and twigs, and rousing three others, 
who keep company with it in flight. Hooray ! another and 
another, and yet another, crop out behind the trees, till there is 
a full score of them bobbing irregularly in the distance. 
Hooray I hooray ! our shouts have roused scores more, and the 
vista IS filled with them in full retreat. Oh, how pretty- ! a 
drove of youthful kangaroos burst into an open glade, and 
follow their elders with juvenile leaps. Our sisters wave their 
handkerchiefs. In a few moments the kangaroos seem but 
grey phantoms flitting in the distance. The last tail has dis- 
appeared. Hooray I we give three cheers for the kangaroos — 
crack ! goes the whip, and weVe off on the track once more ! 

You cannot say you have seen the kangaroo till you have 
seen it leap. Those immense bounds sometimes reach a dis- 
tance of 30 feet Kangaroos are unmitigated pests to the 
squatter, as they impoverish the cattle-runs by eating up the 
valuable grass. They are hunted unmercifully. Kangaroo- 
dogs are to be seen about the townships — wiry, muscular 
animals, seamed and scarred with wounds. They are very 
plucky, and boldly attack the kangaroo, which is very desperate 
when brought to bay, gripping the dogs in a mortal embrace, 
and tearing them up with its strong hind claws. " Don't you 
get into their clutches," a man once said to us ; " it's like being 
hugged by a bear with a circular saw in its stomach !" 

Another day's journey brought us to Warrnambool, a seaport 



34 Singing Round the World. 

town 170 miles south-west from Melbourne. Then vid Belfast, 
another seaport town, we drove towards Portland, 45 miles 
further west, and reached by a really bad road, which at one 
point ran along the sea-beach. We had the greatest difficulty 
in getting along at all, as a storm had blown and washed up the 
sand into uncouth, irregular hillocks — the wheels of the vehicles 
sinking over the axles. After charging a mile or two of sand- 
heaps, one of the horses fell in a fit of the " staggers," and was 
only revived with difficulty. Our journey of 45 miles 'took from 
seven in the morning till seven at night, when we arrived weary 
and hungry. But at eight o'clock my father was on the plat- 
form as usual, introducing a large audience to " Twa Hours at 
Hame." From Portland we struck inland once more through 
the bush. 

The Bush — what is the Bush ? You will find nothing like it 
in our British woods, in the backwoods of Canada, or the forests 
of New Zealand. The Australian bush is unique. It consists 
of undulating, grassy, thinly-timbered country. The trees stand 
wide apart, and there is no undergrowth, so that a coach-and- 
four can drive through any part of it The leaves on the gum- 
trees are long and thin, and turn their edges to the sun. There 
is therefore very little shade in the bush ; the sun penetrates 
freely, and the grass, which is always light, grows thin and 
brown in the summer-time. Everything appears to be burnt 
up. The earth is hard and dry, and has not the springy velveti- 
ness of a British park. The trunks of the trees are dry ; there 
is no humid moss about the roots. 

The bush road winds its lonely way, every succeeding horse 
and vehicle giving it more defined form. In wet weather the 
bullock-drays form deep holes and ruts, and lighter Vehicles 
spread out in different directions to avoid the old road. It is a 
common sight to see seven or eight different tracks in all stages 
of development, from the almost completed road to the barely 
perceptible wheel-marks on the grass. Sometimes the traveller 
comes to an open space, with tracks winding tantalizingly to 
right and left, and if a " new chum," he is sadly at a loss. They 
stretch out before him like the fingers on his outspread hand. 



Tlie Bush and, Bush-Roads, 35 

This one does not lead in the right direction ; that one is not 
enough trodden to be trustworthy. He would take the middle- 
finger track, if a little further on it did not suddenly turn in a 
suspicious fore-finger direction. The thumb starts well, but 
after all it is hardly so taking as the little-finger track. Yes, it 
will do ; and yet the fourth finger is the very way he wants to 
ga Tut, tut ! it gets fainter and fainter. Oh, if there were 
only a hut to inquire at ! The stranger is sorely puzzled, but 
in the end trusts to luck, latterly finding that the tracks all 
harmoniously blend at no distant spot, like the converging lines 
of a railway junction. 

A bush road is generally lonely, and you never meet any one 
except an occasional swagman, stock-rider, bullock-driver, or 
commercial traveller. The swagman or tramp is a kind of 
demoralized " gaberlunzie," who trudges from squatter to 
squatter, from township to township, begging food or assistance 
on his journey ; which journey is endless, and continues from 
year's end to year's end. The professional swagman walks to 
live. One species of tramp is the " sundowner," so called from 
his habit of appearing at a squatting-station about sunset, and 
asking food and shelter for the night The genergus " open- 
door" hospitaiitj'' of the early days, which has latterly been 
abused, is fast disappearing from amongst the squatters, and 
instead of his usual cold mutton, the swagman now gets the 
cold shoulder. 

While driving along you will sometimes observe in the dis- 
tance a cloud of white dust, and hear the creak of wheels, with 
loud shouts and whip-lashes, which announce the approach of 
the bullock-driver and his team. He is a seedy, dust-covered 
man in a slouched hat He carries a long whip, its trailing 
lash eight feet long, with which he can flip the farthest bullock. 
" Hoick ! hoick 1 get up. Diamond ! Now, then, daisy ! come 
hither, Strawberry ! Hoick ! hold off. Brandy ! Hoick ! you 
short-homed Whisky, come up ! Nobbier, what do you mean, 
eh ? hoick I hoick ! " He gives each a cut in turn, with the 
addition of high-flavoured epithets, the bullock-driver being 
chargeable with a large amount of vocal sin. 



36 Singing Round the World. 

At the small village of Branxholme we gave a concert in a 
little wooden schoolroom that stood solitary some 300 yards 
away in the bush. The room was so limited that tickets had 
to be sold in the open air. It was not till eight o'clock, when 
the shades of evening had set in, that the people began to 
assemble. At different points persons seemed to be starting 
up from the earth, so noiseless was their approach. On all 
sides we could hear the soft thud of horses* hoofs on the grass, 
and the jolting rumble of carts. The school-house formed a 
strange concert-room. The audience were seated on school- 
desks and forms, while we had to sing on a platform composed 
of a brandy-box covered with a tablecloth. The lighting con- 
sisted of our two coach-lamps, one each end of the " stage," 
supplemented by one or two candles stuck in bottles, which we 
asked the front-seat people kindly to hold in their hands. The 
room was soon filled to overcrowding ; but upon the doorkeeper 
jocosely announcing to those outside that they could go " Up 
the chimney for a shilling ! " some half-dozen people rushed in 
and took up position in a capacious fire-place, while the rest 
swarmed noisily outside, and looked in at the broken windows. 
The concert concluded, the audience slowly dispersed amongst 
the trees, with cart-rumbles, hoof-falls, and phantom Sittings 
as before. 

The town of Hamilton came next, and from there we went 
to Ararat Here we struck the Middle Diggings — a region of 
hot, bricky, inflammable-looking townships, composed of one 
long stretch of shops and chief buildings, with other houses 
straggling out here and there, as if they had lost heart at not 
finding room in the chief street, and had become quite reckless 
and careless of appearances. Some of these wooden houses 
are more comfortable as to their interior arrangements than 
one would imagine. They have respectable furniture, and of 
course a piano. We say of course, because, as in most mining 
towns, nearly every person has a piano. During the gold rushes, 
when a digger became possessed of a " pile," he would perhaps 
commence by having a good lengthy drink, but he would 
assuredly at one time or other purchase a Collard or a Broad- 



Coaching to Sydmy. 37 

wood. As often as not the instruments were second-hand, 
tuneless, and thrummy ; but what cared Alluvial Jack or 
Auriferous Bill ? The piano had a shape to it, had a good 
shiny case, and was altogether about the right sort of lengfth 
for him ; so out came the roll of notes, and the piano went 
home. 

Near Stawell or Pleasant Creek, one of these mining towns^ 
is a small Scottish community, which some years ago was very 
•exclusive. An Irishman, it is said, came one day to settle in 
the place, and next morning a deputation of indignant Scots 
waited on him, demanding he should cither put Mac to his 
name or leave the district He chose the former alternative, 
and was ever afterwards known as MacFlahcrty! Lands- 
borough was our next stage — a musty, canvas-flapping place ; 
you could almost fancy you saw its ribs. In former days it was 
three times the size, owing to a great flock of tents that fluttered 
down during a famous rush. These have all fled, leaving the old 
nucleus of bark huts and stores. After finishing the Middle 
Diggings we went by Daylesford and Bacchus Marsh back to 
Melbourne, where we arrived near the close of a hot afternoon,- 
ending our eight weeks' circular tour of 600 miles. 

Our projected overland journey from Melbourne to Sydney 
struck our friends as a remarkable proceeding. Some of them 
conjured up bushrangers — others spoke of rough roads ; but 
latterly they changed their friendly remonstrances into sug- 
gestions, one enthusiast writing us out a voluminous list of 
articles required for travelling. This wonderful document urged 
coils of rope, advised hatchets, counselled tin cans and soup- 
basins, proposed nails, hammers, and screw-wrenches, and above 
all things impressed upon us the necessity of taking feed for 
the horses and food for ourselves ! 

On the 17th of March, 1873, our procession swept out of 
Melbourne. First our big dog Uno, bounding and barking 
with joy : then two of us on horseback ; then the coach with 
its white cover on the roof, its team of four-in-hand, and Patrick 
holding the reins with an air of great dignity ; and lastly, the 
buggy, containing Pater and Mater. It was a hot-wind day — 



$8 Singing Round the World. 

before tis, an implacably straight road, swept by dust-storms 
which veneered us with a white impalpable powder. 

We rested at Kllmore, thirty-seven miles out, an agricultural 
town, with 1600 of a population, mostly Irishmen. Being St, 
Patrick's Day, two straggling, tuneless bands were promenading 
the streets, and a ball took place in the evening. The town 
was further excited on the following morning by a trotting 
match between a local pony and a stranger mare. Towards 
noon the revellers of the preceding night lolled about the streets 
in a very twilight state. Most of them were betting upon the 
race — one bemuddled man persistently stuffing as his stake a 
handful of pound-notes into another's eye. Our route lay by 
. Seymour, I-ongwood, and Violet Town, The township of 
Longwood seemed to the eye as if half-a-dozen cottages had 
sworn to a hotel and post-office that they would keep them 
company, and not leave them in the wilderness alone. At 
dinner in the hotel at Violet Town we encountered some 
magnificent specimens of the colonial farmer — one a tall, 
strong-built Irishman, who treated his left-hand companion, a 
member of Parliament, to a condemnation of the Land Act 
He also declared that it cost him ;f 200 a year for his "nobblers" 
or drams, and that no man could say he was earning a living 
who banked less than ;^iooo per year. 

We had some difficulty in getting quarters here, as the hotel 
was full. One limited room was occupied by six low trestle- 
beds placed side by side, and filling up the entire floor, so that 
to reach his humble couch the furthest sleeper had to step over 
five beds. " Shake-downs " or mattresses were also laid on the 
floors of the other rooms. As we had determined to sing in 
every place, large or small, we gave our entertainment here. 
The largest room in the hotel was arranged in imitation of a 
hall. The table became the platform, and all the chairs about 
the house were gathered together. The lounging benches that 
stood in the verandah were brought in ; tub-stools came from 
the kitchen ; and rough pieces of timber, or halves of saplings, 
were laid ort boxes with the rough, rounded side uppermost 
By a little squeezing and good-humour on the part of the 



Our Travelling Piano. 39 

audience, a lai^ number of people managed to get in. Most 
of them had come from many miles round. In all these 
country-places we used our "wee peeawny," as an old Scots- 
man called it This was a square little instrument, four octaves 
and a half, made to order by Womum, of Store Street, London. 
Since then it has been all round the world — been baked 
beneath the suns of Queensland, and frozen amid the snows of 
Canada — been handled by Yankee " baggage-smashers " or 
railway-porters — has tumbled off carts and fallen downstairs; 
and, in short, has conducted itself in a roving way, such as no 
piano, I am perfectly certain, ever did before. It served us 
well, jmd kept marvellously well in tune. We packed it in a 
canvas cover, with leather handles to it, so that two of us could 
carry it The three legs were previously screwed off and en- 
shrined in green bags. Within three or four minutes from the 
final chorus of " Auld Lang Syne," the piano was strapped up 
ready to go on the back of the coach. We regarded it as a 
valuable member of our family. 

Next morning we had intended to follow the mail-coach to 
get the short route to Benalla, but the information which we 
received about the road was so precise that we proceeded on 
our own responsibility. This ended in our being lost five hun- 
dred yards from the town. We wandered for miles without 
seeing face or habitation, losing tracks and finding fresh ones, 
till we struck a small hamlet Here we gained some more 
precise information, which sent us through innumerable paddocks 
with immense slip-panels, every individual bar of which had 
to be carefully taken out and replaced upon each occasion. A 
journey of seventeen miles thus extended to one of thirty. 

Near Oxiey, some few miles from Benalla, there was an 
encampment of blacks, and a company of four children and 
two women soon introduced themselves. One of the lubras 
was old, and very black, but with a blacker eye, which she had 
received during a recent " corroboree " or meeting of the natives. 
The old, plump, black woman's hair was long and glossy, and 
she was dressed in loosely-tacked corn-sacks. The other lubra 
was younger, had white pearly teeth, and carried a baby slung 



40 Sinking Round the World. 

over her back. The children were from six to twelve years old, 
and scampered about in costumes that seemed only a formal 
yielding to social requirements. The aboriginals work at the 
Oxlcy Hotel, but they are lazy ; and it was amusing to see the 
length of time they took to clean a candlestick, shake a hearth- 
rug, or wash a plate. They presented us with a live opossuin, 
which we kept as a pet for weeks afterwards. It was quite 
lame. It used to climb our knees, jump on the top of our 
heads, hang by its tail from our forefinger, scamper about the 
house, and scramble up window curtains. It was, of course, no 
favourite of the landlady we had in Sydney, and one day we 
found it curled up dead, evidently poisoned, in a corner of our 
room. 

We visited Wangaratta. and then went on to Beechworth, a 
town which lies so high above the level of the sea, that one 
almost expected to see a thunder-cloud trailing along the main 
street, or driving mists obscuring shops and houses. Leaving 
Beechworth, an abrupt turn brought us in sight of Yackandan- 
dah, lying far below in a plain. This, the Valley of the Murray, 
is famed for vine-growing, the landscape being thickly dotted 
with luxuriant vineyards, gleaming with the rich yellow tints 
of autumn. Yackandandah, lying far below in the Valley of 
the Murray, was our next stage. Going from there to Chiltern, 
wc came across the " Gap," a rough, precipitous track winding 
down a hill. After long suspense we reached the level ground, 
but had scarcely gone twenty yards when the " ring-bolt " of 
the coach (the pivot run down through the front axle) snapped 
in two, and with a crash the pole flew up, severely cutting one 
of the horse's mouths. With the greatest difficulty the 
animals were brought to a standstill, and had it not been for 
two strong supplementary belts round the axle, the horses 
would have bolted with a legacy of wheels. 

Two days after, wc crossed the Murray at Wagunyah, 
twenty-three days out from Melbourne, and passed into New 
South Wales. Eastward, on the north bank of the river, we 
drove forty-one miles to Albury, the chief town on the river 
Murray, and famed for its manufacture of wines. 



Wag^ga Wagga. 41 

We are off now to Wagga Wagga, ninety miles north — a 
hard two days' journey, but the horses arc fresh. We start as 
usual early, and all forenoon wind monotonously through sheep- 
runs. At midday we camp for a couple of hours. We unhar- 
ness the horses, and tie them to the trees ; then one of us runs 
down to the creek to fetch water, another spreads a white cloth 
on a sloping bank, and a third scrapes together miscellaneous 
tinder, making a blazing fire against a tree stump. By this 
time the supplies are out of the coach — a cosmopolitan diet of 
canned meats — sardines from Pari.s, herring from Aberdeen, 
oysters from Baltimore, and currant -jelly from Hobart, 
Tasmania. The "billy" is bubbling on the fire, and another 
large can is simmering with potatoes. The horses are crunch- 
ing their maize; our driver is bedding up the fire with logs, 
and fanning it with his old slouch hat. He makes capital tea, 
which we enjoy with the hot potatoes. Then we stretch 
ourselves out in the shade, and enjoy a short dreamy siesta. 
In half an hour we are bustling about, folding our tablecloth, 
collecting our tin pannikins, hookinj; our pails and billies to 
the back of the coach, collecting the horse-feed, and harnessing 
the horses. We are careful, too, to put out the fire — there is a 
heavy fine inflicted on any one who leaves anything burning 
in the bush. The grass is dry, and a sparlc sometimes will set 
it ablaze. A brief look round to see that nothing is left, and 
we are off. 

Still the same wearisome scenery — trees, trees, trees every- 
where — new vi.'itas opening in front, and vistas fading away 
behind us. Towards the close of the afternoon, the sun sinking 
lower in the sky ribbed the track with the long shadows of the 
trees. Then the far-off timber seemed to rise and shut out the 
sunset, the track becoming suddenly dusky, and silence settling 
on us all at once. We had wished to reach the Billabong 
Creek by night-fall, but at last regarded it as hopeless. A 
shrieking laugh burst out of the hush. It was the vespers of 
the jackass birds — a hideous discordant chorus. When this 
batch finished, another family took it up, a little further off; 
then another further still, and another, and yet another, till the 



42 Siftging Round t/ie World, 

laughs died away in the distance. Hark ! the faint tinkle of a 
bell, nearer and nearer, till we meet a cloud of dust, out of 
which evolve a bullock-dfay and driver. " Far from Billabong?" 
" No ; a few miles." On again, poor sweaty, dusty team. 
There's the moon just shining over the tree tops'; and, oh 
happiness ! a light is glimmering ahead. Here at last is the 
solitary settler's house. Invisible dogs howl at us from every 
point of the compass. We knock ! — silence — no one at home, 
so we hitch up the horses to a cattle-pen, and wait the arrival 
of the folks. On the other side of the creek a large fire is 
blazing, and round it a number of Wagga Wagga men, who 
have been driving bullocks to Melbourne, and are now return- 
ing after a six weeks' journey. They come to the creek-side and 
pray across to us for only one thing — they want but little here 
below, and that little is butter, which we feelingly throw over 
to them in a piece of paper. By the light of the moon we see 
two females approaching the house, and after a brief colloquy, 
it is found that the accommodation will only suffice for my 
mother and sisters. 

The males "camp out" — a very romantic feat in this fine 
weather. We put the horses into a pen ; then make a tent 
close by with a sheet of canvas, spreading a couch of straw and 
rushes. This makes an airy bedroom, and the moon shines 
through the sheeting. Oppressed with a general sense of 
quietness and straw flavour, and soothed by a lullaby of tail- 
whisking and hay-munching at our ears, we fall asleep, but are 
rudely awakened next minute by Patrick, who tells us to get 
up. It is five o'clock A.M. — " next minute " has lengthened to 
seven long hours. It is still dark ; the moon is low down on 
the horizon, the morning cold and raw. There is a brisk fire 
with a billy on it — our breakfast. We seize the opportunity of 
the remaining moonlight to water the horses in the creek — 
not an easy job, two of them escaping up the opposite bank, 
and keeping us anxious till they come back neighing for their 
companions. The moon has given place to a streak of day- 
light, and we are greeted by the mocking laugh of the jackass- 
birds, this time put to the blush by a civilized cock, who crows 



Friends of the " Claimant." 43 

a prodigious blast. About six in the evening we cross a 
wooden bridge spanning the Murrumbidgce, and in the twink- 
ling of an eye are in the main street of the town amidst cheerily- 
lighted shops and a Saturday-night pavement crowd. 

Wagga Wagga lies midway between Melbourne and Sydney, 
and is the metropolis of a wilderness. It is in reality an em- 
porium for the convenience of the wealthy squatters residing 
in the neighbourhood. We sing in the Masonic Hall, said to 
be the largest concert-room out of Melbourne ; it had a 
sumptuous proscenium, and a stage loaded with scenery. 
There were, however, scarcely any seats, and persons using the' 
hall were compelled to place planks over barrels, boxes, and 
brandy cases — a style of seating very laughable in such a 
pretentious structure. Among the "lions" shown to the visitor, 
is the hut of the Tichborne Claimant. The mean-looking 
hovel, now rented by a tinsmith, is jammed in between a 
larger shanty and a public-house in one of the by-streets. You 
find the usual persons who parasitically attach themselves to 
famous or notorious characters. Smith knew the Claimant, 
and so did Grazing Tommy ; Bilkins supped with him, and 
Wilkins drank with him ; Barber Brown had his butcher meat 
f^om him for years ; Robinson worked with him for months on 
end ; as for Jones, you might almost say he lived with him ; 
and, in fact, they all knew him, and a rare good fellow he was. 
It would surprise even "Tichborne" himself to know the 
number of bosom friends he left in Wagga Wagga. 

From hence we travelled to Gundagai, an extraordinarily 
clean-looking place, perched upon a hill-side, looking down 
upon some flats. This is Gundagai No. 2 — Gundagai No. i 
having been totally destroyed by a fearful flood in 1852. A 
young squatter here gave us a reminiscence of the calamity 
" It was an awful time," said he. " My father acted as minister 
of the place, and read the burial service over forty-five persons. 
Our house didn't last long. We had to stand on the window- 
sill with poles, and stave off the big trees and rubbish. But 
the logs kept battering against the house, and letting in the 
water. For a long time we could hear the chairs and ta.b\.e.=> 



44 Singinff Round the World. 

washing about inside, and our grand piano bumping. Then 
the house fell away piecemeal, and it was all we could do to 

escape with our lives." 

Yass, further east, was reached by a weary drive of two 
days. There was no incident to lighten the journey, save 
when we came upon an open glade covered with a dense flock 
of cockatoos. They rose in a large white cloud, circling and 
shrieking, and latterly flew to the shelter of the forest, where 
they clustered thick as orange blossom on the trees. The 
town is built upon the borders of Yass Plains, and here a great 
■ iron bridge spans the River Yass. The first to traverse Yass 
Plains was Hamilton Hume, the explorer ; he discovered this 
portion of the country during his famous expedition. For 
many years he resided at Yass in quiet seclusion, spending his 
old age in a neat rustic cottage, fondly pointed out to strangers 
by the inhabitants. Strange to say, as we were entering Yass, 
the funeral of the venerable explorer was leaving it for the 
cemetery, which lay outside the towu. The hearse was 
followed by forty vehicles, belonging to doctors, .squatters, 
hotel-keepers, shop-keepers, and tradesmen generally, followed 
by a hundred horsemen, riding in couples, and representing 
every class of society. The spectacle approached the historical. 
A day's journey from here brought us to Goulburn, whence we 
took the train to Sydney, This ended our six weeks' overland 
trip of over 500 miles. 



Sydney. 



CHAPTER III. 

Sydney— The "Larrikin "—Parraioatla— Brisbane— The Wilds of Queensland— 
Gympie Gold Fields— Queensland Blacks— Roclthamplon — Darling Donni — 
SSaathorpe Tin Mines. 

The streets of Sydney, the capital of New South Wales, arc, 
generally speaking, narrow. "Yes, yes," a citizen said tons, 
" they are no doubt far from wide, but see the advantage in 
point of shade!" You feel nervous about the wheels of your 
vehicle, or the legs of your horse if you are riding. On the 
pavements of Pitt Street, you are either elbowing plate-gla-s 
windows or slipping off the kerb-stones. George Street is far 
more modern in appearance, and has commendable width. 
We took lodgings in Wynyard Square, a locality of boarding- 
bouses, and white-porched private dwellings. Our landlady 
was as smirking as possible, with excessively fashionable 
daughters. She was generally agreeable, but upon any dis- 
paraging remark being made as to the size or quality of chop 
or steak, she flared up as to her high birth, and wondered what 
her ancestors would have thought of this keeping of boarders ! 
The lodgings were close to Church Hilt, so called because of 
the sacred edifices clustered round it. Of the Presbyterian 
churches Dr. Lang's is the oldest — the " Scots Kirk " as it is 
called, the foundation-stone of which was laid in 1833. We 
were invited by the veteran Dr. Lang to take tea with him, 
and we had a most interesting evening. The Doctor's talk 
was of a bygone generation — of the early strifes, politics, 
separations. Parliaments, and Governors of the colonies. He 
came to Sydney in the month of May 1823, and ever since has 
identified himseif with New South Wales ; the review of his 
career would almost be that of the colony. He has been in 
Parliament, and mixed in the heat of politics ; he resigned his 
seat in the Legislative Assembly about the close of 1872. The 



4.6 Smging Round the World, 

separations of Victoria in 1851, and Queensland in 1859, were 
a great deal due to the unflagging. energy of Dr. Lang, who 
has also been foremost in the caUse of immigration. Though 
over seventy, he still took part in public affairs, and was then 
preparing a fresh edition of his excellent History of New 
South Wales, one of the numerous works he has written on the 
colonies. 

Sydney is blest in the matter of public parks and gardens. 
The Domain is charming, and the Botanical Gardens close to 
it, are a bewildering profusion of palms, bananas and fern-trees, 
while tasteful gravel walks wind about the grounds and skirt 
the dark blue waters of the Farm Cove. As to Sydney 
Harbour, the praises of it rang in our ears from the time we 
landed in the colonies. We craned our necks from the top- 
storey window of our lodgings, but could only see a small 
patch of water almost filled up with the masts of shipping. 
And yet our landlady claimed a View. Every hotel and 
lodging-house, if it command but a speck of water, advertises 
a View. We even saw one or two houses overlooking the 
harbour on tiptoe — that is, with about twelve feet of solid 
masonry as a foundation, and the front door reached by a 
narrow flight of steps. In Melbourne, people demand your 
opinion of the city. In Sydney they ask, "What do you think 
of the Situation ? " and had it a political significance they 
would not ask it with more earnestness. 

A kind friend projected a sail round the harbour and a pic- 
nic in one of its hundred pleasure grounds, getting together an 
enjoyable company of folks, and chartering a steam launch. 
Passing " Lady Macquarie's Chair," a stone scat carved out of 
the solid rock, we sailed through Watson's Bay ; then doubled 
the rocky point on which the sea breaks coming through the 
Heads, once the scene of a terrible shipwreck, with no survivors. 
Our littlesteamertumbled aboutherc,but we soon got intosmooth 
water in the Middle Harbour, the high-wooded banks of which 
recalled the River Hudson in America. We had a glimpse of 
Manly Beach, styled by the Sydney folk "the Brighton of 
Australia," and Clontarf, the pleasure-garden where the Duke 



The "Larrikin" 47 

of Edinburgh was shot by O'Farrell — our sail concluding in 
Pearl Bay, where the steamer rasped and grounded some 
distance from the shore. A boat came off and took the ladies 
round a projecting point. Then one of the gentleman swam 
about, along with a htofc^nsx-sansculotte, pushing off, till at last 
the launch slid away, one of the gentlemen clinging to the 
gunwale, and the other being left on the rock a knee-deep 
shivering white figure. When the boat came, he was right glad 
to be relieved, as he said that most of the time he had been 
standing on oysters. Safely landed, we beheld a table on shore 
spread with every imaginable delicacy. After three ringing 
cheers for our host, we all got on board again, and arrived at 
Sydney in the twilight. 

There is one thing you make note of before you have been 
long in Sydney — the number of middle-aged people who have 
been reared in the colony, whose fathers were born in it. At 
least it seems peculiar after Melbourne, where nearly every 
mature man carries about with him the date of his arrival in 
Australia. You see a preponderance of the Jewish cast of 
countenance. In Sydney, also, there is an old established 
criminal class, which Melbourne, being a younger city, does 
not possess ; a Sydney crowd can muster its roughs with any 
place we have seen! There is one deplorable charactei- to be 
met with, the "larrikin," who is indigenous to the colonies 
generally, though Melbourne is more particularly his homa 
He is a wild youth, a creature bred by the absence of parental 
control — a lower-class youth, but not necessarily very poor, 
very wretched, or very young. You would not know him if I 
were to call him a street arab, a rowdy, or one of the " great 
unwashed." Like some foreign phrases, he is untranslatable. 
His misdeeds rival those of the "Tom and Jerry" days. The 
larrikins, in gangs of twenty and thirty, break street-lamps, 
wrench off knockers, tear down fences, mob and maltreat 
policemen, hustle respectable people at noon-day, and at night 
assault some sober citizen and rob him. Scarce a week passes 
without some larrikin outbreak. 

Sydney has eleven suburbs. At Balmain, a picturesque 



48 Singing Round tJu World. 

suburb, occupying a point of land, with streets sloping down to 
the harbour, we gave one of our concerts. During the day 
our manager came over from Sydney with a large box-full of 
oranges, a present from some unknown friend. We felt anxious 
as to how we could stow them away on our impending journey 
from Sydney to Brisbane ; but the difBculty was unexpectedly 
solved. By the time of our departure there were no oranges 1 

Parramatta, fifteen miles from the metropolis, is an old town, 
settled in 1790 under the title of Rose Hill. The streets are 
wide, the houses old, and the whole place quaint. Tropical 
plants surrounded the hotel we lived at, and a rich orange tree 
was pushing its way into one of the bedroom windows. Who 
has not heard of the golden fruit of Parramatta ? The orange 
groves are a sight to see — long straight rows of small trees 
speckled with flaring yellow fruit, and filling the air with 
fragrance — the oranges delicious to look at, but still more 
pleasant to be plucked fresh from the tree, and' tasted in all 
their pure beady juiciness. 

Steamboat life is the same here as at home — the same close 
saloon, the same red velvet-cushioned seats, the same sickly- 
smelling zinc-covered stairs, the same stokers, and the same 
broad-speaking Glasgow engineer — but not the same captain. 
The Australian skipper is a distinct species of being ; there is 
'nothing at all sailor like in his appearance. When you have 
singled out on the wharf some stout florid commercial traveller, 
and said to yourself, " That is the captain," behold ! a slim 
gentleman in a black coat, white shirt-front, coloured necktie, 
steps on board and shouts his orders to the un-nautical crew. 

Sydney to Brisbane, a sea-journey of 500 miles, occupied 
fifty-four hours. We left at six o'clock in the evening, and 
rose in the morning to a fine sea-picture. The sky was blue 
and cloudless — the scenery bold and mountainous. The coast 
was outlined in foam — the green seas breaking upon the 
shore, washing and swirling round the rocks, climbing up the 
shaded sides of the clifls, and bursting in the sunshine on the 
summit into clear masses of spray. Scores of porpoises leapt 
about the ship — an exciting, inspiriting scene. I became ac- 



The Captains Yams. 49 

quainted with a young Melbourne gentleman, and contrived to 
pass the time with him in interesting discussions. He main- 
tained his views in a lofty philanthropical manner, supporting 
his arguments as if they were so many paupers. The captain 
was genial, though at table he proved himself a perfect 
Munchausen, pouring into unsuspecting ears a succession of 
improbabilities. We had beard of his powers ere we came on 
board, but he almost managed to hoodwink us with his fictions 
while apparently busied in something else — handling his knife 
and fork, or crumbling a piece of bread — his most flagrant 
efforts being made under cover of reaching for the cruet-stand. 

'* Fine flavour this tea — best tea I've tasted for weeks — (a 
sardine, steward !) — it was lucky 1 got it as I did — the Marquis 
of Normanby, Queensland Governor, you know, had — (ahem, 
hem ! something in my throat, I think !) — had ordered a large 
quantity of it from Hong Kong — the finest Bohea, mind you 
(another cup, Williams) — he bought more than the family could 
use ; so — (I'll take the butter, please) — so I got three chests of 

the tea from the Marquis, and — and " " Ah, captain," said 

he, shaking half a dozen remonstrative fingers — " ah, captain, 
how could you?" He gravely winked, and answered in a 
whisper — " You've found me out, but — but — you'd wonder how 
many believe me !" During the rest of the trip the captain 
devoted himself to a convalescent English curate and his 
brother, giving them a comic account of the coast — how Smoky 
Cape got its name from the fumigation of a cave full of escaped 
convicts — how the Solitary Islands were inhabited each by one 
man — how Cape Byron was so called because a descendant of 
the poet Wordsworth lived there — and how Point Danger, 
strange to say, was the safest promontory on the coast, with 
other facts that eventually opened the eyes of the two mild 
people. 

Brisbane, the capital of Queensland, lies twenty-five miles 
from the mouth of the river. It is a new-looking town, with 
fine wide streets and a population of 20,000. From the 
verandah of the Royal Hotel we have a good view of the town. 
From the rear we look across an array of back-yards and 



so Singing Round the World. 

gardens, with waving banana-trees. The street is busy with 
horsemen, big red coaches, and drays with in some cases twenty 
bullocks attached. Aboriginals, male and female, and 
Polynesians from some up-country sugar plantation, stroll 
about, with blue-striped trousers, short coats, and umbrellas ; 
while little boys arc to be seen chewing sugar-cane two and 
three feet long, using it as a walking-sticking and eating the 
upper end. 

Brisbane is a flourishing town, the capital of a young and 
thriving colony. Queensland, which for a time formed a 
northern district of New South Wales, did not come into 
separate existence till 1859. At first, it had a season of 
fictitious prosperity, flourishing on borrowed funds, precociously 
raising a national debt. But in 1866 there came a serious 
commercial crisis, paralysing trade, and creating a panic 
Riots were feared, and the community was in disorder ; when, 
like the opening of a door to relief and safety, there broke out 
the great Gympic gold diggings. 

The hardest four days' travelling we ever had in Australia 
was from Brisbane north to Gympie. About dawn one even- 
ing my brothers and I went to the stables and hauled the 
empty waggon up to the hotel ; then packed it with our boxes, 
bundles, piano, fiddle, and a quantity of eatables. At six a,m, 
my father mounted the horse " Bob," which he occasionally did 
as a variety to riding in the buggj', and we left the Royal 
Hotel, with a cheer from the stableman and waiter. Forty- 
three miles of a lonely bush road, and towards evening we 
reached a way-side inn, kept by a Perth woman. Here we 
had every attention, for she was a "real nice body," and 
bustled about in a heart-warming Scottish fashion. After tea 
the good lady was vcrj' anxious to hear once more the " Auld 
Scots Sangs," so in the twilight we all sat in the verandah and 
performed a selection from our programme.. 

On the second day the road was rougher and the scenery 
grander. On each side of us rose high banks surmounted by 
Ioft>- trees, which towered up like walls. Coach and horses 
-•^med to dwarf as we passed through this precipitous vegeta- 



Tlie Wilds of Queensland. 51 

tion. The straight, tapering timber interwoven^ with parasites, 
like natural trellis- work, with long leafy tendrils trickling 
down from a great height. We had to walk for many miles 
this second day, urging the horses three yards at a time up 
the long hills. 

" Folks generally swear here," said Patrick with an air of 
information, at the foot of a formidable ascent — " a good long 
oath ; it makes the horses go better." 

No doubt ; but — hum — we could never think of 

The very thing! use the names of Scotch songs. We 
started up the hill. " Jo-o-ohn Grumlie !" shouted one ; " Ye 
Banks and Bra-a-acs !" shrieked another ; " Get up and Bar 
the Door — oh !" yelled a third, frightening one of the leading 
horses, who sticks manfully into his collar. On wc go. " Oh, 
why left I my Ha-a-me !" takes us an immense distance ; 
"Castles in the Air!" gets the coach up about fifteen yards ; 
"We're a' Noddin'!" delivered with impassioned fervour, 
makes great difference in the speed; "My Heart's in the 
Highlands !" in despairing accents, sends us hatf-way up a 
slope; while "Tam Glen," "Ower the Hills an' far Awa-a-a !" 
in fierce excited tones by the entire company, bring us hoarse, 
perspiring, and exhausted to the mountain's brow. 

Near the top of another ascent, the "Devil's Elbow," we 
fairly stuck. So we left our driver Patrick in charge of the 
coach, and trudged with the horses seven weary miles to Cobb's 
Camp, a wayside house, where we arrived amid rain and dark- 
ness. This inn was kept by a German, an honest, good- 
hearted man. The animals were stabled and arrangements 
made for additional horses in the morning. After tea the host 
and hostess began peering out into the darkness for the 
expected horse-express going down to Brisbane with late 
letters for the home mail. The man was behind time, the 
night wet, black, and stormy. The rustic and creak of the 
trees, the hiss and beat of the rain, prevented us from hearing 
distinctly, as we strained our ears for some sound of his 
approach. He was up and close upon us with his white horse 
before we knew, and in a second he was off and into the bar. 



52 Singing Round the World. 

where he undid his dripping glazed coat and told the folks the 
weather was bad, and that the roads were bad, and that the fall 
he had was bad, and that the same horse had rolled over him 
twice before, and that altogether he felt like taking a glass of 
brandy. He stayed all night, and left with his saddle bags 
early in the morning. 

We started not long after him, taking two fresh horses, and 
finding Patrick comfortably asleep inside the coach. This 
day's travelling was unspeakably rough, with descents over 
rocks and boulders, the coach running through the high grass, 
and shipwrecking upon sunken roots of trees. In the midst of 
the wilds a tall, fierce, half-naked black started up in front of 
u& " Lickspince " (sixpence), said he — " Give Song," said we 
— and to our utter amazement he burst forth into a grotesque, 
barbarous version of "Auld Lang Syne," which he had no 
doubt heard sung at nights round the fireside of some lonely 
Scottish shepherd on one of the great outlying Sheep -stations. 
We met, too, a perspiring, red-faced man " swagging it " from 
Gympie^ — a plasterer, who was disgusted with the place, 
"Fancy," he exclaimed, "they wanted me to work for 8s. 4d. 
a-day — the place is going to the dogs!" Wc made only a 
stage of eighteen miles this day, so heavy were the roads. We 
stayed all night at a small inn. Robert had to sleep on a 
table, while I lay on the bar-room sofa, having for lullaby a 
game of " euchre," played by the maudlin host, a passing dray- 
man; and our driver. 

In the dark of early morning we started upon our final stage, 
our business -agent being commissioned to ride direct, and with 
the least possible delay, to Gympie to make preparations for 
our arrival. We had a great extent of boggy ground to go 
over — narrow lanes hemmed in by the same thick undergrowth 
as before, with deep mud through which the horses floundered 
and the vehicle proceeded by slow plunges. " Cobb's coach," 
the public conveyance, came rolling and pitching round a 
corner, the driver saluting us with, "Keep up your spirits, 
there's only the Devil's Backbone now \" And this last slimy 
ascent merited its name. The gradient was so steep that the 



The Gympie Gold-fields, 53 

horses could not pull the coach up more than a few feet at a 
time — even though we had all leapt out, and were each pushing 
desperately at a wheel, with Patrick in front tugging frantically 
at the leaders' heads. 

We sighted Gympie at four o'clock that afternoon, and never 
was town so welcome. We were covered with mud from head 
to foot, and as we drove up the main street, a rumour spread 
that ** they had arrived too late for their concert.*' But we set 
to work, had tea, and at eight o'clock stepped on the platform. 
The hall chosen for us by our local correspondent having been 
deemed unsuitable on account of its lying in a distant part of 
the diggings, we had moved to one nearer the principal mines. 
It had no ceiling, and was far from resonant, a fault which was 
by no means remedied by the crowded attendance. The 
entertainment had been well advertised in the prevailing 
fashion ; that is to say, the town -crier had traversed on horse- 
back the extensive district, ringing his bell and shouting the 
news of our advent. 

Gympie, the leading gold-field of Queensland, has been in 
existence since 1867. All mining towns have three stages of 
development — first canvas — then wood — then brick. Gympie 
is now in the climax of the wood metamorphosis. The 
principal street is an irregular thoroughfare winding up one 
side of a hill — the shop fronts in every shape and design, with 
wooden cornices surmounted by flagstaffs, and the street 
resembling from a distance the long straggling lines of booths 
at a country fair. We lived at a hotel which was a curiosity in 
its way. It had a good appearance outside, but was rather 
incomplete as to interior arrangements. The bedrooms, for 
instance, were all under one common roof, about eleven feet 
high, and separated from each other by wooden partitions 
about nine feet high. A knock at one door elicited **Yes" 
from half a dozen different people. 

The population numbered 6000, one-half engaged in mining. 
We came across that wonderful digger, to be found on every 
gold-field, who retails to you his narrow escapes from good 
fortune, telling you what he might have been //"he had only 



54 Singing Round tlie World, 

held on to those valuable shares of his, i/*he had only taken 
the £^000 offered him for his small bit of land, //he had not 
been an ass, if he had kept his eyes open, //he had shut his 
mouth to drink, if he had not foolishly speculated with the 
liard-earned savings of years. This man of "buts" and "ifs" is 
vocally a millionaire. There were people in Gympie from every 
gold-rush under the sun. Whether they were managers, share- 
holders, or common miners, they all had an elastic, bounding 
confidence in Gympie. They based future prosperity on the 
reefs — deep-sinking was to be the foundation of Gympie*s 
greatness. By all above the earth and underneath the earth, 
they believed in it 

The morning we were to leave Gympie, breakfast had been 
ordered at 7.30 ; but it was five minutes late and the hotel- 
folks were reprimanded. We were generally very precise in 
our arrangements for starting, trying our best to rival the rail- 
way in punctuality, in order to provide for the awkward 
contingencies which frequently beset the bush-traveller. A 
comparatively easy journey of two days brought us north to 
Maryborough. On the way wc passed numerous heavy drays, 
sometimes with ten or a dozen horses each, conveying all kinds 
of goods to the diggings, where of course nothing is produced 
but gold. As we met about forty teams of eight on an 
average, as many as 360 dray-horses were at this time journey- 
ing southward. At Maryborough we saw large numbers of 
South Sea Islanders, who are brought to Queensland by as 
near an approach to slave-trading as it is possible to reach 
under the British flag. They arc employed on the maize and 
sugar plantations, and work also on the wharves. There were 
scores of Queensland blacks, too, carrying cargo to the steamers 
— brawny, muscular fellows, with brass breast-plates inscribed 
" King George," " King Billy," and the like, though we were 
greatly shocked to see royalty tussling with corn-sacks and 
trundling bales of hay. 

The blacks gathered about the town in large numbers, strid- 
ing up and down with long spears, waddies or clubs, and 
boomerangs. The older women wore opossum rugs, had 






TIu Queensland Blacks. 5 5 

their faces covered over with a thick coating of red chalk, and 
had a circlet of high feathers sticking up round their heads. 
All the women own d<^s, and they share with them the bread 
and scraps of meat collected from domestics at the back doors 
of hotelsL I saw one of these wiry dogs run over by a fast 
baker's van. The poor brute howled and doubled itself up in 
agony, while its old mistress, after great wringing of hands, set 
to work soothing the animal and replacing the pieces of 
abrased skin. All the time she continuously uttered a scries 
of mumblings, a stray tear or two finding their way through 
the thick layer of red chalk upon her face. In a few minutes 
she was overjoyed, for the dog ate a piece of meat from her 
hand, and hobbled quietly along. 

The Queensland blacks have a less civilised appearance, and 
altogether. look grander savages, than their fellows in Victoria. 
They are sly dogs, too, those aboriginals. One of them was 
be^ng, and a gentleman tendered him an old battered thrcc- 
pennypiece. " No, no, no," said the black, shaking his head 
and grinning — " no, no — that no good — that congregation 
money !" A black at Maryborough offered us a boomerang 
for a shilling, and we asked him to throw it in proof of its 
genuineness. Accompanied by a large number of young 
blacks and a bevy of erect, poker-like females, who smoked 
and who used spears as walking-sticks, we went to an open 
piece of ground. The aboriginal stuck out his elbows on a 
level with his ears, poising the boomerang on the back of his 
left hand, and grasping it firmly in his right. Then turning 
half round on his heel, he suddenly sent the weapon flying 
h^h into the air. It whirled, dodged, curved, went this way, 
came swooping down close to the ground, rose high again with 
graceful sweep, lost a great deal of its vitality, revolved feebly, 
fluttered down again exhausted, skimmed lightly along the 
grass, and finally landed a few yards from the feet of the black. 
We bought the boomerang, and thought we had not spent our 
shilling recklessly. 

Our driver Johnson was left behind at Maryborough to drive 
the coach back to Brisbane. The horse " Bob" and the pony 



56 Singing Round the World. 

"Jessie" were shipped on the steamer for Rockhampton, 
not without much ado, " Bob's " head requiring to be veiled by 
a coat before he would " walk the plank." We had a perfect 
sea voyage from Maryborough to Rockhampton, a distance of 
250 miles. The sea was smooth and veiled by a faint mist, 
like a vast mirror that had been breathed upon. The shoals, 
rocks, and sandy spits fluttered with sea-fowl, amongst which 
tall sober pelicans stalked in a paternal manner amongst the 
smaller birds. The river banks were covered with mangrove 
scrub, and fringed with reeds, vividly reflected in the water. 
As the sun set, the sky blazed with orange tints, while the long 
reach of the river, stretching out before us, shone staring white 
with the reflection of the colourless sky immediately above. 
Then quietness settled down ; the low thud of the paddle 
wheels, the metallic " clunk " of the frogs in the marshes, the 
chirp and whirr of insects, the frequent ripple of hungry fish, 
and the occasional warning clang of the ship's bell echoing 
back from the hills, seemed to deepen the general stillness. 

Rockhampton at last. Though the month of August, and 
the winter season, we felt the climate warm. The townsfolk 
themselves complained of the heat, and threw open their houses 
to the noon -day gaze, reclining in canvas lounges, smoking and 
chatting in the verandahs. The windows were in reality fold- 
ing glass-doors. The Rockhampton people certainly know 
how to combat warm weather. The grocer, the butcher, and 
the baker are attired in the lightest costumes ; the barber 
shaves you with tucked up sleeves, and shirt open at the neck ; 
and the draper goes about without coat or waistcoat, selling his 
goods to gaily-dressed young ladies. In the summer, labourers 
are allowed two hours' rest at mid-day, to avoid the sun. The 
population of Rockhampton was at this time about 600a A 
captain once told us how his first load of emigrants to Rock- 
hampton consisted of forty-five single women — a precious 
cargo! At that time there were only six houses in Rock- 
hampton, and the fair sex were all lodged in one building. In 
a few days they had all disappeared — one third of them into 
service, two-thirds into matrimony. The bachelor squatters 



"Oh, dem Veeds!" 57 

used to walk into this interesting domicile and make their 
choice. 

The Fitzroy is one of the largest rivers in Australia, and 
navigable thirty-five miles from the bay. Crocodiles abound, 
some of them twenty-five feet long. "Big Ben," who was 
caught in this stream, and who wc saw stuffed in a museum at 
Sydney, weighed half-a-ton. Now and then large nests are 
found, and a gentleman one day presented us with an egg, one 
of sixty-six he had discovered the same morning. 

The Leichardt Hotel was most comfirtabJc; the landlord 
kind ; the coffee-room spacious, and witli two large punkahs, 
which were very cooling in the hot evening';. I had for candle- 
stick a black man's skull, the candle placed in one of the eye- 
sockets — a piece of diabkric that might have graced the table 
of AlJoway Kirk, and would certainly have raised an extra 
hair on the head of glorious Tam. One forenoon we visited a 
garden in the neighbourhood, owned by a good-hearted 
German. Our friend met us at the little white gate, dragged 
us inside, bustled before us into his house, forced us to drink 
jugs of milk, and then took us round his adorable vegetation. 
Clumps of bananas, sugar-cane, and baml.mo — umbrella-trees, 
pomegranates, passion-flowers, castor-oil jjlanls! cauliflowers 1 
cabbages! — the mind reeled amid the profusion. "Oh," sud- 
denly exclaimed our friend, "dem veeds !" and he pulled up a 
number of pine-apples growing wild akmg'^ide the walk. He 
called them " weeds," but they were most palatable. Then we 
Iiad some more milk at the house, and while we were eating 
nice home-made cakes the German made up gay bouquets, his 
good lady meanwhile filling a basket with oranges. She umild 
have us take them, they were so healthy. Lemons were even 
better, she said ; and the kind folks stuffed our pockets with 
them. The same day our friend came to the hotel, smiling 
over an armful of flowers. Then hurrying out, he returned 
again with more smiles, and a large canvas bag filled with 
limes. It will be long ere we forget either the good .soul or 
his garden. 

At Rockhampton we met a young squatter, who had just 



58 Singing Round the World. 

ridden down from his station, 200 miles up country. Some 
years ago a large party of blacks attacked the station and 
murdered the young man's father. He told us he found 
station-life dull. True, he read books and newspapers in the 
evenings, and sometimes visited his neighbours. Another 
squatter lived " only twelve miles distant," which was reckoned 
to be almost next door. Sometimes a passing show would 
call in at the little township — for be it known there is always 
a goodly collection of cottages and huts in connection with a 
station. One day a small circus came round, and the manager 
cast his eye about in a business-like manner. Then he 
addressed the squatter : — " Ah — hum — yes — I'll fix up my 
tent here, if you please. I've been turning the matter over, 
and perhaps it will — yes, it will be some slight trouble taking 
money from each person in the place — so I think it will 
simplify matters greatly if you just give me a cheque for the 
population!" 

From Rockhampton we returned south to Brisbane, touching 
again at Maryborough. At this port, five aboriginals came on 
board, and literally " dropped off" at Frazer's Island. The 
youngest of the blacks was a child of about ten or twelve years 
old. The five rolled up their rags, and tied them on top of 
their heads, with a knot under the chin. After long fidging, 
twitching, and nasal droning, they dived off, one after the 
other, into the rushing, glancing foam. One old man had the 
additional task of pushing before him a bag of flour. The 
long yellow beach of the island, more than a quarter of a mile 
distant, was shining in the sunset, and thronged with blacks. 
Looking behind with a glass, we saw five black heads bobbing 
in the distance, then five dark figures scampering along the 
sand, and joining their companions on the shore. 

We had to be in Brisbane on Friday to give a performance 
on behalf of one of the charities, but we did not find till too 
late that the steamer's time was altered, and that she was not 
due till Saturday ! The captain, however, was most obliging, 
for he did not waste a moment, hurried up the loading at the 



The Darling Downs. S9 

various ports en route, caught all the tides, and landed us at 
Brisbane in plenty of time for the concert. 

One of our horses, " Billy," a massive animal, having had 
fever in the feet ever since the toilsome journey to Gympic, 
James and I took him by steamboat to Ipswich, while the rest 
came on by the coach. The tide was very low, so much so 
that the little steamer had to be steered on shore at the sharp 
turnings, and then poked ofT with poles — a most laughable 
procedure, the extreme shallowness inducing the captain and 
one of the passengers to bet as to whether the boat had or had 
not " scraped " on this or that occasion. Passengers, too, were 
picked up here and there off the river-banks, a small boat for 
the purpose being towed behind the steamer — giving one the 
idea of an aquatic omnibus. Once we drifted slowly under a 
large tree trunk that jutted out from the bank. " Unship the 
flagstaff!" shouts the captain, signalling to back the engines. 
A man springs to the bow, but is caught full in the back by 
the projecting tree, which takes him slowly off his legs. With, 
such stirring adventures the time passed pleasantly. 

Next to Brisbane, Ipswich is the most important city in 
Southern Queensland, and prides itself upon being the ter- 
minus of the Southern and Western Railway, the line running 
to the Darling Downs. This region is a splendid table-land 
rising fifty miles back from the coast, and reached by a railway 
that climbs 2000 feet up to the plateau. The carriages are 
roomy, and double-roofed to keep off the direct rays of the sun. 
There was a characteristic notice in our compartment : — "In 
consequence of damage done to the linings, persons are 
requested to take off their spurs before lounging on the seats " 
— a notice, by the way, which a bespurred squatter seemed to 
ignore. Through the breaks between the deep cuttings we 
had frequent far-off views of fields and forests — flat expanses 
of trees spreading out like carpets, wrought with a shady 
pattern of clouds. Presently came open grassy country of the 
table-land, contrasting strongly with the timbered, mountain- 
ous region we had just left 

The Darling Downs are cooler than any other part of 




6o Singing Round tfie World. 

Queensland, and at Dalby we had a roaring If^-fire in the 
hotel parlour. Our comfort, too, was increased by a humor- 
ous, autobiographical waiter, who presented his history along 
with the various courses of dinner. He served with the 
soup his butlership to an O'Donoghue in Ireland — he ar- 
rived with the joint in New York — by pudding time he 
had as a mariner got safely through the bombardment of 
San Francisco by the "Tuscarora" — and with the advent of 
cheese he finished a long career of glory in the principal hotels 
of Melbourne. The hall wa.'^ a nice new building. Just as our 
concert was commencing, the red curtain of the proscenium 
had to be lowered for a few minutes at the desire of a number 
of the town's folks, who had not seen it before. 

After singing in Toowoomba and Warwick, wc went to the 
Stantliorpe tin mines. The road was awfully bad, having been 
cut up by the ore-laden and o'cr-laden drays. The severe 
shocI;s the coach received bent the ring-bolL We got a bush- 
blacksmith to make a new one, but soon this went lik:: the 
other, and at last wc had to bind up the underworks with ropes 
and chains. Two years before our visit, Stantliorpe was a 
lonely sheep station. A shepherd, who had lived unsuspecting 
on the .spot for years, went mad with disappointment on the 
discovery of tin. This was the youngest township we had ever 
seen. Its .sole street was three-quarters of a mile in length — a 
double row of wooden houses winding through an outer chaos of 
huts and sand-heaps. " JIar," " liar," " Bar," stared at you on 
every hand. The signs were chiefly composed of calico. Among 
the principal houses were the "Mining li.\change Hotel," the 
" Woolpack Inn," and t!\e " Sun Burst Tavern," with the rising 
orb pictured in front like a golden porcupine. Immense gum- 
trees grew in the middle of the street, proudly bearing Ken- 
nedy's jKDsters 1 We stayed at a hotel built of wood and 
corrugated iron. The landlord united in his person the respec- 
tive characters of publican, tin-buyer.and Member ofFarliament 
Wc had dinner in comiiany with an editor, a commercial 
traveller, a squatter, a printer, and a railway official, and felt as 
if hob-nobbing with the vital interests of the place. The tmnu 



Quari Pot Creek. 6i 

was better than one could have expected. We had ail the 
delicacies of a town hotel, as the landlord had the scr\-iccs of a 
French cook. 

After dinner we view the township, and turning a corner 
come upon the Quart Pot Creek. Here truly was a scene of 
industry! — a veritable hive or unearthed ant-hill. Scores cf 
men were to be seen in the stony bed of the creek. Men sat 
plunging away at horizontal brass pumps, thirteen feet in length 
— driving wheels, two or three feet in diameter, revolved in the 
water-races — miners in high boots, with long eight-pronged 
forks, were busy in the sluice-boxes. The water in the creek was 
carried off by a flood-race 300 yards long, but the inflow, still 
considerable, was drained off by two large Californian pumps, 
worked by steam, and constructed on the principle of the Jack- 
towel and theatrical waterfall. 

Returning from the Quart Pot Creek, we encounter stumps, 
bushes, boulders, fallen logs, barkless trees, heaps of sand, and 
square white canvas tents fluttering in the wind, with here and 
there a Chinaman's cabbage garden. We see a humble brown 
church, with the orthodox peaked door and windows, and with 
a bark roof straddled over by a framework of saplings to keep 
the sheets of bark from being blown off. The other churches 
are simply shingled weather-board buildings. The Wesleyans 
hold service in a shop. Every man seems to have been his 
own architect, and, as on most mining rushes, the rough ap- 
pearance of the houses is more the result of necessity than 
poverty. One hut we entered was lined inside from top to 
bottom with cuttings from the illustrated papers, while over 
these again hung an excellent oil-painting. 

We gave our concerts in the Court House, a wooden build- 
ing raised on props two or three feet from the ground, with a 
platform outside reached by a flight of steps after the manner 
of " Richardson's Show," There were not enough seats in the 
building, so we had to borrow from various parts of the town. 
We carried out the prisoners' dock, and made it the " ticket- 
office " — the public paying their money over the long row of 
spikes with which the box was guarded. The jury-box was 



62 Singing Round the World. 

hastily filled by a family who came very early. We sat ranged 
on the Judge's bench — a " terrible show I " The court-room 
was crowded and hot, and the windows had to be kept wide 
open, giving a full view of the performers to the lai^e crowd 
which had gathered outside. On Saturday night, after our last 
concert, we had to return all the chairs and forms, as they were 
urgently wanted on the Sunday. My brothers and I had to 
unseat the Court House and reseat two churches before getting 
to bed that night ! We sang in the choir of the Presbyterian 
Kirk next day, where we heard a most excellent sermoa The 
building was small and primitive-looking. The pulpit-step 
was a brandy box with the letters XX clearly visible upon it t 



^■a . ^w l 



New England District. 



CHAPTER IV. 

New Soulb Wales again — A versatile Beadle — Our Dog Uno — Aiutialian Holds 
. and Bush Ions — Hot Weather— Deserled by our Diivei— Ad Upset 

Leaving this lively township, we crossed the Queensland 
border into New South Wales, making our first stay at 
Tenterfield, a quiet town in the New England district It 
stands about 4000 feet above sea-Ieve!, and has a pure, fresh, 
climate, though we felt it rather cold. " Cold ? by Jove, this is 
excellent weather," cried an enthusiastic townsman, drawing in 
his breath with a hiss — " Cold ? why, this is a glorious climate 
■ — same as England every bit — that is, barring the damp 1 
Where will you find such glowing-cheeked damsels — such 
brown-faced sturdy young men ! I love the cold wind, bless 
it ! " The hall was in connection with the hotel, and its only 
entrance was through the latter. Seats had to be borrowed 
from a school, and lights from somewhere else. Furthermore, 
we had to fasten up a rickety door which had fallen off its 
hinges, and otherwise improve the premises. 

A stage of thirty-five miles further brought us to Deepwater, 
the smallest place we ever performed in. It consisted solely 
of two inns about three hundred yards from each other. We 
had tea in the dining-room — then adjourned to the kitchen, 
where the concert was held. A rough wooden candelabra was 
hung from the ceiling, along with the coach-lamps. Forty 
people managed to crowd in, and we wondered where they all 
came from. The acoustics, I need hardly say, were not good, 
and one had the feeling of singing down the throats of the 
audience in the front seats. Even in such a small village as 
this we were not free from opposition, for the other half of the 
town — that is, the rival hotel-keeper — got up a "dance" to try 
and charm away our audience ! 

At Glen Innes, an agricultural township. The hall 
was an auction-room. We had the job of piling up 



64 Singing Round tJu World. 

some scores of heavy bags of tin- ore to form a basis 
for the platform. Talking of bags reminds me of 
another place we were at, where the seating consisted of planks 
laid on sugar-bags. Early in the evening many of the bags 
burst, and if the audience did not take the entertainment with 
" a grain of salt," some of them at any rate helped themselves 
liberally to the sugar! The hotel at Glen Inncs was full of 
commercial travellers, and my brothers and I had to sleep in 
some odd beds constructed In a building at the rear. As usual, 
one common roof covered a number of calico partitions. Towels 
were scarce, and it was highly comical to see a man wiping his 
face on the loose fragments of the calico partitions — " drying 
his face on the walls," as he called it. The hotel people had 
run short of calico in [one instance, and had filled up the gap 
with old election banners, " Peace and plenty ! Vote for Fipps!" 
and so on. The commercials made the night hideous by pro- 
longed revelry in the parlour. They clanked glasses, stamped, 
slapped the table, engaged in vociferous discussions, and trolled 
out the gems of British melody. It was not till three in the 
morning that the commercial Interest felt depression and 
departed to its couch. 

We spent a Sunday in Inverell, another rural township, and 
went to the Presbyterian Church. This was the first time for 
months that we did not sing in a choir on Sunday, and the 
rest was peculiarly grateful. There was an attentive, respect- 
able congregation of healthy-looking country-folks. Many of 
them had come on horseback, and the animals browsed out- 
side the church until the conclusion of the service. Before 
entering the church, we had noticed a man tugging vigorously 
at the bell-rope. When the congregation had been " rung in," 
he hurried to the precentor's desk and led the psalms. Then 
later he whipped round with the collection-plate. Lastly, he 
saw the congregation out, and carefully locked the door. He 
was only equalled in versatility by a man we saw in Kilmore, 
Victoria, who was at one and the same time the Presbyterian 
church-warden, the town-crier, the bill-poster, and the inspector 
of nuisances! At Inverell we wished to buy a saddle-horse. 



Our Dog Uno. 65 

Patrick happened to mention that fact to the stableman, and 
in half-an-hotir the news had spread all over the town. The 
street was soon busy with horses of everj' variety, and with all 
kinds of vices. My brothers and I had a hard time of it can- 
tering up and down the road, trying the different hacks. At 
last we hit upon a small wiry horse, for which the extravagant 
sum of six guineas was asked ! He was an insignificant look- 
ing, meek-faced animal, but we added to his dignity by calling 
him "the General" He turned out well, not only "in the field," 
but also on the road. 

Armtdale was the last town we visited in this New England 
district — the centre of an astonishingly fertile tract of country-. 
We chanced to be in Armidalc also on a Sunday, and found 
there a prosperous Presbyterian Church. The minister is hard- 
worked, for, in addition to his many duties in Armidale, he holds 
service at thirty-four different places every three months; but 
ministers are scarce and the country sparsely settled. The 
colonial clet^ymen certainly "live laborious days." 

We heartily enjoyed our travelling. In the morning, just 
before the first streaks of daylight, we rose in the cold and the 
darkness, and made ready for the journey. Our driver busied 
himself in the stable by candle-light, giving the horses their 
oats and putting on the harness. We drew the coach out into 
the stable-yard — then took the wheels off, one at a time, and 
gave the axles a dose of castor-oil from a bottle which Patrick 
carried about with him for use equally on wheels and horses. 
The coach was packed ; then off we started, Patrick smacking 
his whip, or " flagellator," as he called it, and our heavy dog 
Uno bounding in front Poor beast ! he had many a weary 
scamper alongside that coach, though he enjoyed himself in his 
own way. Now he would dash wickedly through the bush after 
some innocent sheep — now hear a rustling in the grass, and 
follow a snake to its nest in a hollow log — now rush excitedly 
after a drove of kangaroos — now sniff a tree for some hiddpn 
opossum. One day he would be splashed all over with black 
mud — another day powdered over with white sand — next day 



66 Singing Round the World. 

covered from head to tail in red loam — according to the various 
districts we passed through. 

We had great experience of Australian hotels. Taken as a 
whole, they were excellent The accommodation was good — 
so was the " table." Meat of course entered largely into the 
fare. This might be expected in a country where beef is from 
fourpence to fivepence a pound, and mutton threepence a 
pound. The colonists eat a good deal of butcher-meat A 
bush-farmer, a Scotsman, once said to us, " What wad the folks 
in Scotland think o* pleughmen gettin' mutton [to eat in the 
mornin's ? We have cauld mutton to breakfast, cauld mutton 
to dinner, an' cauld mutton to tea. We're weel aff, I can tell ye!" 
The charges in the hotels vary from eight shillings to twelve 
shillings a day, according to the quality of the house or the 
size of the township. This payment covers everything ; there 
are no vague additional items such as "Attendance," or " Beds," 
or " Boots," or " Lights." Of course there is no law forbidding 
you to tip the waiter or stableman before driving off ; but that 
is about the fullest extent to which anything is " looked for." 
While the accommodation in the country hotels is good, we 
cannot say so much for the bush inns, as the houses in the less- 
settled parts are called. 

Hot, tired, dusty, thirsty, travelling through the lonely, end- 
less bush, amid the unvarying fragrance of the gum trees, we 
come to a bush-inn, the " Traveller's Rest" We see its white- 
painted sides and its iron roof shining through the trees. We 
push forward in haste, the very horses pricking up their ears 
and quickening their pace. In a few minutes we draw up to 
the door. Immediately in front of it stands a tall white post sup- 
porting an empty square frame, from which the sign-board has 
broken away. A red-faced, sandy-whiskered man in tight 
trousers and a striped flannel shirt, with a halter dangling over 
his arm sees to the horses. In the bar, a bullock-driver is 
asleep upon a small three-legged stool, his head upon his arms, 
leaning on an ale cask that stands in one corner, and from 
which an occasional draught is tapped by the landlord for two 

^emen who have just dropped in. A trooper has dis- 



ct«r 



"The Traveller's Rest." 67 

mounted from his horse, and is sitting on a form outside, 
reading the paper from the nearest township. At the side of 
the door a magpie chatters in a large round wicker cage. 
Going to the stable, we cross a rotten plank or two, that, from 
the slushing sound they make, seem to cover something 
sodden. We come upon dirty-faced, shaggy-headed children — 
dogs snuffing at old bones — hens pecking at cold potatoes — 
and a dozen pigs quarrelling in a small stye. The scene is 
backed by one or two tottering, drunken-looking out-house& 
Near the stable-door lie half-a-dozen horse-collars, a set of 
chain-harness, a dingy stable-lamp, and an old brandy-case 
strewn with stray oats and chaff, the remains of some horse's 
alfresco feed. A thin layer of straw barely covers the earth in 
the floor of the stalls. The planks that compose the walls are 
wide apart, many of them swing loose, and a cold wind blows 
through and through the stable. 

Dinner being ready, we enter the parlour. The walls are 
merely papered canvas, and bulge inwards with every pufl" of 
wind. The window is shaded by a white blind that is semi- 
detached from the roller and hangs down in a long dog's ear. 
The wide yawning fire-place, full of white powdery dead embers, 
resembles the mouth of a railway tunnel, for the smoke has 
blackened the wall immediately above. The sooty mantel- 
piece is occupied by empty pickle-bottles, two noseless, armless 
China statues, a tattered Cookery Book, and a tiny pocket 
thermometer, the mercury of which has broken its little bulb 
and trickled away in disgust at not being able to register 
anything but smoke. The table is covered with a glazed 
cloth, the veneer of which having scaled off in many places, 
shows the rough canvas beneath. At one end is spread a 
white cover, blotched with extensive yellow stains caused by 
the spilt coffee of some preceding guest There are two dishes 
— an immense piece of corned beef, and a plateful of ham and 
^gs. The floor being uneven, you are in continual oscillation 
on your seat The cruet-stand, formerly a tripod, has lost a 
foot, and now leans over invitingly towards us. The carving- 
blade is broad at the tip and curved like a scimitar; the 



68 Singing Round the World. 

common knives, through long sharpening, look like daggers ; 
the tarnished, dinted dish-covers are ranged on a side-table 
like shields. One feels as if dining in an armoury. A dog 
appears on one side, and puts its paws upon the table — a lean 
cat stands opposite and claws the cloth ; you sit between a 
hungry, rampant coat-of-arms. The pudding is a long, dry 
rolly-polly, the jelly of which seems to have lost itself in one of 
the numerous convolutions. Obnoxious tea is brought in a 
large metal pot about eighteen inches in height. The bread* 
too, IS unpalatable, being veined with raw white dough. The 
cups have rims a quarter of an inch thick ; while the spoons 
are of a very miscellaneous nature, there being an egg spoon, a 
salt spoon, a German silver spoon, and a leaden spoon where- 
with to stir our tea. 

Robert, James, and I are quartered in one bedroom, and 
accommodated with what arc called " swagmen*s beds." The 
pillows arc stuffed with straw, and wisps tickle our ears. We 
sleep under the national tricolour — red, white, and blue — a 
rough red-threaded coverlet, a thin blue blanket, and a thinner 
white sheet. Another sheet separates us from the barred 
trestle beneath, and we feel as if sleeping along a ladder. One 
window serves two rooms, the partition coming right in the 
middle of it. As the window is open, and a breeze blowing, 
wc tr>' to shut it, but find the gentleman next door has propped 
it up with the hair-brush. The wall on one side is a wains- 
coated partition, and a cataract of rats and mice pours 
unceasingly through it. The other is the usual calico screen, 
and when we blow out our candle we are startled by seeing, in 
gigantic shadow-pantomine, the whole of our neighbour's 
nocturnal toilette. 

Just as my brothers and I are dozing off, we hear angry voices 
in the bar — a crashing of glasses, a scuffling of feet, with female 
shrieks for the police. Suddenly the sounds mellow down, and 
we know the combatants have been bundled into the open air. 
We hurry out and find the space in front of the hotel filled with 
a noisy crowd. In the middle stands a short, purple-faced, 
inebriated man, with disordered hair and ensanguined nose. 



The Man tff the Moon-bi. 6i^ 

He is mildly denouncing everybody «'ith a general wa\'e of the 
hand^ — -" Cowards all of you — I'm only a poor butcher^you're 
a lot of curs — I'm from the Moon-bi Range up there — seen 
skittles ? — well, knock you all down like skittles — you're a con- 
founded pack of — ." "Shut up, will you!" roars another 
drunken fellow, bringing his fist down on the butcher's nose. 
Purple-face retaliates, but missing his aim, hits another indivi- 
dual full in the chest. This Introduces a new combatant, who 
in turn becomes embroiled with some one else. There is a 
general melee. In the thick of it all is the Moon-bi man, whose 
nose is punched by every one consecutively. On the outskirts 
of the throng, the landlady tugs at the coat-tails of her husband, 
who is mixed up with 'the fight. The stableman excitedly 
rushes round with a lantern, and, standing on an inverted 
wheel-barrow, throws a glimmer of light upon the scene. For 
full five minutes there is continued shouting, kicking, and tear- 
ing of hair. Suddenly the crowd opens, and the poor butcher 
is projected violently against a wooden fence, frightening a 
number of hitched-up horses, who snap their bridles and vanish 
into darkness, followed by their half-sobered owners. The 
butcher sits for a time scratching his head, and meekly mutter- 
ing vengeance ; but eventually, with the assistance of some of 
his late foes, picks himself up and staggers into the bar, where 
he abruptly falls asleep over a " nobbier" of schiedam. It will 
be long ere wc forget our day at this bush-inn, and our mid- 
night introduction to the man of the Moon-bi, 

At Tamworth, our following stage, some sixty-two miles 
south of Armidale, there was great talk about the capture of a 
party of bushrangers. They had committed robberies far up in 
the interior of Queensland, and had been tracked by mounted 
police into the vicinity of Tamworth, where they were 
caught after severe resistance. Si.xty miles further south, 
at Murrurundi, we reached the Great Northern Railway, 
which extends to the port of Newcastle, a distance of 120 miles. 
Then we took the train to Singleton, passing on the way 
Musclebrook and Scone, two healthy-looking pretty towns. 
At the latter there were a large number of gaily dressed ladies 



yo Singing Round the World. 

among the audience, and as they had ridden on horseback from 
the country up to the hall-door, it was wonderful how their 
toilettes had been preserved. 

The weather during this month of October was very pleasant 
On our second visit to this district, however, during December, 
the heat was intense. The town of Scone fully bore out its 
name, for it was baked. The thermometer stood for several 
days at 142° in the sun, and i lo"* in the shade. The grass 
went into powder beneath your feet — the earth was as dry as 
cinders ; grasshoppers were to be seen in myriads on every 
meadow and field ; mosquitoes sang loudly everywhere ; and 
going to your bed at night you would probably find an enor- 
mous tarantula spider, like a small crab, crawling on the look- 
ing-glass. The forests of Victoria were ablaze from one end 
of the country to the other, and such overpowering heat had 
not been known for many years. At Scone we were almost 
compelled to keep indoors, and it was there that, seeing a dray- 
man standing in the hotel porch, we remarked that the weather 
was hot " Hot ! " he rejoined, " I should think it was I every 
time a bullock passes me I smells beef-steaks ! " 

Maitland, the second city in New South Wales, and the 
chief town of this Hunter District, is an extensive place, sub- 
stantial and well-built, with the Hunter River flowing close be- 
hind it At home Maitland was always associated in my mind 
with floods. As we walked about, old flood-marks were 
pointed out to us. The flats on each side of the town, and in 
fact the whole of the level country in this large Hunter Dis- 
trict, owe their unparalleled fertility to the occasional over- 
flowing of the river. A pleasant remembrance of Maitland 
was our meeting with a family of Highland Kennedys, dis- 
tantly related to us. 

At this time the district was agitated by Parliamentary 
elections. At one place, in consequence of a meeting of miners 
in the hall, we could scarcely get the building in time for the 
evening's performance. The political crisis affected our 
concerts, the majority of the audiences being composed of the 
fair sex. At one town, however, where there was a meeting 



Deserted by our Driver. 71 

the same night as our entertainment, the national minstrelsy 
proved stronger than politics, for the member of parliament 
broke off his speech, and, accompanied by his constituents, 
adjourned to the hall to hear the Songs of Scotland ! Of 
course we were warned not to come at this time. Advice of 
that kind is never awanting. " Oh, you should have been here 
last week — last month — the middle of next week." "If you 
could only have been here on the miner's pay-day." "Oh^ 
there's the church bazaar." " Ah, there's the Methodist soiree." 
"All our best families are away just now." "The awful bad 
crop's against you." " You've made a great mistake — you've 
come when there's no moon !" Despite all these imaginary 
odds, we secured large audiences. 

From Maitland we took the rail to Newcastle. Like its 
namesake, Newcastle flourishes on immense exports of coal. 
The hall here was small and perched at the top of a hill so 
steep that one night an omnibus, overloaded with the public 
coming to the concert, fairly broke down. During our stay 
here, my father and brothers indulged in the luxury of sea- 
water bathing, in company with a venerable clergyman, in 
artificial stone tanks dug out of the solid rocks along the shore. 

We came back from Newcastle to Musclebrook, and resumed 
our coach and horses, which we had left there while we went 
down by rail. Our route now lay across country, along what 
was not by any means a high road. We purposed reaching 
Gulgong, the latest gold-field of the colony, 124 miles inland, 
in five days. We had pleasant travelling to Denman, a small 
village fifteen miles from Musclebrook, where we stayed all 
night Here Patrick had a quarrel with the innkeeper as to 
which of them should clean out the stable. Upon our not 
backing him up in his imaginary grievance, he threw up his 
engagement with us, and next morning we awoke in time to 
see Patrick far in the distance trudging back to Musclebrook, 
Kere was a dilemma ! We were left with a coach and horses 
on our hands — no other driver was to be had — none of us had 
ever driven a team before. But " Tom " our business-agent, 
volunteered to drive the coach. We left in the early morning, 



72 Singing Round tJie World. 

and toiled through the bush till mid-day, when we rested three 
hours by the side of a creek. In the afternoon, as we were 
ascending a soft sandy hill, the coach stuck. The horses were 
not to be budged by any amount of lashing. Tired out though 
wc were by a whole day's hard jolting heat, and some miles of 
hill climbing, we hauled out the luggage. The horses dragged 
the coach across the hill, and edged their way down the slope. 
The vehicle gradually began to tilt over, while Tom the driver 
sprawled over towards the higher side of the box, and latterly 
jumped off unhurt, dragging the reins after him, as the coach 
went down with a loud crash. We prised the coach round, so 
that wc couid lift it into position down hill, and within five 
minutes it was on its wheels. 

Daylight had vanished long ere wc had arrived at Merriwa, 
but the horses seemed to fee! their way instinctively. As I was 
riding aliead, I threw over my back a broad white handkerchief, 
as a faint guide to the driver. Wc kept up a series of whistles 
and shouts as a link between us — one of our cries being 
" Coo-oo-OD-tr ! a bush-call borrowed from the aboriginals. As 
we drove into the township the folks came out, astonished at 
this untimely appearance of a coach, and the road was bright 
with the light that shone through the open doors. The 
day following wc reached Cassilis, where we remained over- 
night. Then off wc went again, arriving at a rough wayside 
inn. The house lay on one side of a creek, and the gully was 
crossed by a most dangerous bridge. " Bridge " one could 
hardly cal! it, for it was a mere layer or raft of branches thrown 
loosely across, and filled in with twigs. It was narrow, too, 
and reached by a sharp descent, so that there was great danger. 
As tiie coach jolted over it, the ends of the .saplings came flying 
up one after the other, like the hammers of a piano in a brilliant 
chromatic scale. 

On the fifth day wc made an early start, and arrived about 
eight o'clock at a creek, where we made an excellent breakfast. 
About two o'clock we reached Gulgong, a bustling, enterprising 
place. We sang in what was grandiloquently known as "The 
Prince of Wales' Opera House," a hall seated for 800 persons. 



"Billy" Bolts. 73 

On Sunday we attended the Presbyterian Church. The clei^y- 
man was a young man who had recently given up the jewellery 
business, and had not even become a divinity student ; while 
his wife played the harmonium. The congregation was of the 
smallest, and apparently did not embrace any of the mining 
clsss. 

We were five days here, and then left for Mudgee, a stage of 
eighteen miles. On the way, there occurred the most serious 
accident wc had in all our travels. My father and mother were 
driving quietly along in the buggy. There was a hot sun, and 
the horse " Billy " was not at all in a good humour. To waken 
him up a little, my father gave him a touch of the whip. In a 
moment " Billy " threw up his hind legs ; one of them got 
jammed behind the swingle-bars, and away he wildly bolted 
on three legs. As on most bush-roads, stumps were plentiful, 
and " Billy " darted over one of these ; but the front axle came 
with terrible force upon the stump. My father, thrown out by 
the shock, fortunately fell on his hands, and escaped unhurt 
My mother was shot out violently against a fallen tree, her 
face striking full upon the rugged trunk. The harness gave 
way at once, and "Billy" rolled into a trenchjust large enough 
to hold him tight He lay helpless on his back, with all his 
hoofs elevated safely in the air — a providential occurrence. 
My mother was picked up insensible, her face covered with 
blood. We laid her at the foot of a tree, where there was 
some little shade from the burning sun. After her face had 
been bathed with water, which we brought from a creek, she 
opened her eyes and spoke. Two of us galloped back some 
miles to get vinegar and brandy, while the rest repaired the 
damage done to the buggy. The shafts had to be bound up 
with splints — the swingle-bars held together with rope — the 
harness mended with twine. By the time we were readj' to 
start, my mother had somewhat recovered. When we arrived 
at Mudgee, we called in a doctor, and a few days afterwards 
our patient was off the sick list Sad to relate, a few days 
afterwards the doctor was drowned while fording a swollen 
creek not far from the scene of our accident 



74 Singing Round t/te World. 

We had a standing line in our programmes : "Ladies and 
gentlemen arriving late vill kindly oblige by remaining in the 
lobby till the conclusion of a song !" To suit all the strange 
places we sang in, this should have been altered to " kindly 
oblige by remaining on the stair," " kindly oblige by remaining 
in the bar," "kindly oblige by remaining in the vestry," "kindly 
oblige by remaining in the jury-room," "kindly oblige by 
remaining in the open air;" and so on. The regulation was the 
cause of some trouble in Mudgee. One evening, during the 
third song on the programme, a gentleman demanded admit- 
tance. The doorkeeper politely requested him to remain out- 
side, but he tried to force his way in, his hat coming off in the 
attempt His friends immediately magnified this into an 
, assault by our doorkeeper, who had all the time remained on 
the defensive. When the song had concluded, the indignant 
gentleman called out the whole of his party, twelve in number, 
who had gone in before the concert commenced. Their money 
was returned to them, and they left the hall. Those of the 
audience near the door were astonished — " Do you know who 

that is ? — that's Mr. , the bluest bug we have ! " Next 

day, a gentleman called on us in a friendly way, deploring the 
occurrence, and offering to carry an apology from us to Mr. 

, so as to stop any legal action ! Of course we declined 

the offer, for we knew from the testimony of bystanders that 
our doorkeeper had not gone beyond his instructions. That 
evening a brass band planted itself under the window nearest 
the platform, and played loudly all through the concert. We 
offered them a large sum to move on, but they told us candidly 
they " were paid more money than that to come there ! " The 
incident caused some stir in the community. The papers unani- 
mously sided with us, one journal in a neighbouring town de- 
voting two columns to a humorous discussion of the matter. 
As a rule, the public took favourably to this r^ulation. Some- 
times two or three young ladies, on being kept out, would tee- 
hee, and say to each other, " It's just like being at church ! " — 
sometimes a man would growl, " Is this a prayer-meeting ? " 
— sometimes a late arrival would turn angriiy on his heel, go 



Parting with " l/no." 75 

away, and, frequently, changing his mind, return in the middle 
of a crowd with the air of having Just arrived ! But, as a 
general thing, our audience thanked us for the quietness that 
prevailed during the singing of a song. 

On our bills we had also the more common rule : " Children 
in arms not admitted." It was amusing to notice the way this 
■was evaded. Very often the fond mother would place her 
infant against the wall, saying, "Ye see the puir thing can 
stand 1 " and again it was no uncommon thing to see a father 
and mother dragging a suckling between them, almost dislocat- 
ing its arms, till they got it past the door. In large towns this 
rule acted well enough ; but in the wide-settled country dis- 
tricts, where our concerts were advertised as much by rumour 
as by bills, people in ignorance of the " stem law " came long 
distances with children in arms. Then it was that our mater- 
familtas had a pleasant duty to perform ; for my mother, taking 
compassion on her country-women anxious to hear a " Scotch 
sang," looked after their babes in an adjoining room during 
the concert Very often she had three or four of these valuable 
charges at once, the mothers coming out during the " Interval 
of Ten Minutes " to give them their natural nourishment 

We had a toilsome journey from Mudgee to Hill End, and 
another from there to Bathurst, where we joined the railwa)', 
and ended for the time our bush travelling. We had to sell off 
our coach and huggy and seven horses, to whom we had got 
attached during our long and sometimes perilous journeys to- 
gether; and worse still, we had to part with our old companion 
and self-constituted guardian, " Uno," who had done many a 
weary day's trotting to and fro in pursuance of his chosen 
avocation. 



Sinking- Round tke World. 



CHAPTER V. 

A Trip through Tasmaoii — Hobart Town — Launcestoo. 

Towards the end of December we sailed from Sydney to 
Hobart, Tasmania — a three days' passage. Sighting the shores 
of Tasmania, we passed a grand line of basaltic cliffs washed 
into quaint pillars by the sea, and in a short time reached 
Hobart Bright green hills, squared into orchards and fields, 
and gardens filled with flowers, stretched up on either hand — 
the city appearing in front of us, surrounded by delicately- 
swelling ground, and backed by the massive proportions of 
Mount Wellington, 4166 feet high. On arriving at the wharf 
we encountered quite a plague of flies, or rather fly-drivers, 
and were conveyed to the hotel in a kind of two-wheeled 
omnibus. 

Tasmania boasts two cities — Launceston in the extreme 
north, and Hobart in the extreme south. There are really no 
other towns, the rest of the island lying between these two 
points being studded by a number of pleasant villages, Hobart 
is the capital — an old, substantial city, with a population of 
20,000, and prettily situated on the Derwent It possesses an 
excellent town hall, fine churches, several jam- factories, a large 
orphan asylum, and two benevolent institutions, the last-named 
sheltering between them five hundred old men. The number 
of old men to be seen in Hobart and throughout the island 15 
extraordinary. 

The temperature of the island is mild, and aflTords a strong 
contrast to the Victorian when he crosses Bass's Straits. The 
Melbourne man goes to Tasmania as an Edinburgh or Gla^ow 
man takes his family down the Clyde, or as the whites on the 
plains of India fly in the hot season to the Hills. When we 
landed in Hobart, the weather was cloudy and the air so sharp 



Hobart Town. yy 

that we required a fire in our sitting-room — an agreeable change 
from the sultry skies of New South Wales. A few days later 
it became veiy warm, one of the papers announcing the tem- 
perature to be 90* in the shade. " It's a downright shame to 
put that in print," said an irate Hobartonian ; " it gives the 
colony such a bad name, and none of the Victorians will come 
over if they fancy it's so hot as that here !" 

We lived at a very well-conducted hotel, immediately opposite 
an Episcopal church. On Christmas Day we interested our- 
selves in watching the people assembling for morning service, 
and were astonished to find the great preponderance of the fair 
sex. I think they stood in the proportion of five to one. In 
fact, it is only at certain seasons that balls or fashionable 
assemblies can be held, gentlemen being usually so scarce. 
The reason for this sparseness is, that whenever a youth 
grows up he departs for Melbourne to better his prospects. As 
if to make up for this exodus, however, a young man every 
now and then comes over from Victoria and bears away a 
Tasmanian girl as his bride. 

Society in Hobart is highly respectable. An old man cross- 
ing the street may be pointed out to you as a " lifer," but you 
remember that in the olden time people were transported for 
trivial offences, or crimes for which the mind has not a great 
natural repulsion. Many convicts have been sent out for poach- 
ing, mutiny, and the like. As regards the numerous well-to-do 
convicts who have risen to be shopkeepers, or hotel-owners, or 
who fill perhaps the higher offices connected with a town, you 
are in great measure left to guess who they are, if your curiosity 
by any chance should ever rise to such a pitch. 

The people of Hobart are in a marked degree homely and 
hospitable. It was more than once our happy privilege to 
meet an excellent lady, the granddaughter of Neil Gow, and 
daughter of Nathaniel Gow, the composer of " Caller Herrin*." 
We enjoyed the kindly hospitality of herself and her pleasant 
foniily. They were very musical. The good lady is a talented 
teacher of music, and her two sons are organists in the city. 
At her bouse we spent Christmas Eve and the last night of the 



78 Singing Round the World. 

year. One or two hours of music and conversation were 
succeeded, in each case, by a banquet fit for the gods, and sup- 
plemented with strawberries and cream better than any straw- 
berries and cream we ever hope to taste agaia Tasmania is 
the garden of Australia — all the British fruits growing here in 
great luxuriance. At the hotel, jam was in constant supply 
and demand. This city is famous for its preserves, and the 
jam-cans of Hobart are to be seen in all parts of the colonies. 
Had this been an American town, it would long ago have been 
called Jamborough or Jellyville. During Christmas time the 
shops were decked with shrubbery, fruit and flowers, and 
everybody seemed bent on enjoying themselves. New Year's 
day was celebrated with races at a place a little way out in the 
country. One of the racehorses was said to have run more 
than uncommonly well. In the morning the poor beast con- 
veyed a load of spectators to the course and in the evening 
took them back again. 

Hobart is 120 miles from Launceston, and an excellent road 
runs north and south through the island connecting these two 
towns. This important highway, unsurpassed by any other in 
the colonies, was made entirely by convict labour. We drove 
through Tasmania in a hired coach. First we went to New 
Norfolk, a delightful journey of twenty-one miles. The road 
was like an English highway, with long lanes of high hedges, 
through breaks in which appeared flourishing hop-fields like 
those in Kent. The landlord of the New Norfolk hotel, an 
elderly man, who seemed to have " roughed it " in a jolly way 
through life, proved a really good souL He was pressing for 
us to have a drink and a talk with him. This veteran host 
had been actually fifty-two years in Tasmania He was the 
oldest inhabitant ; everybody knew him, and he knew most 
other people. He detailed some experience of the early days. 
In former times, it would seem convicts were nothing else than 
slaves ; or, which was the same thing, were let out as servants 
to the settlers. Some of these, however, acted well towards 
the convicts, and very often one of the latter, on getting a 
ticket-of-leave, preferred staying by his master. Other em- 



Convict Life in Olden Days. yg 

ployers, again, and those who had once been convicts them- 
selves, were very cruel to their men, giving them on the 
slightest provocation a note to the magistrate saying, — " Please 
give bearer twenty-five lashes and return him." Now and 
again this missive was never delivered, the wretched convict 
escaping to the hills, where he had the alternative either of 
death 1:^ starvation, or a return to a twofold worse slavery than 
before. True, there was another resource open to the more 
daring spirits. They became bushrangers, robbed travellers, 
lived on occasional provisions sent them by sympathizing vil- 
lagers, or those who desired immunity from plunder, and alto- 
gether led a short, restless, unhappy sort of life. In this way 
our genial New Norfolk landlord gossipped of "auld langsyne" 
in Tasmania 

Our next stage was Hamilton. The hall here was a bam, 
deemed by many of the villagers to be insecure, but sufficiently 
tested that night Under the barn one could hear horses 
champing and stamping and grooms swearing, but the concert 
was not greatly interrupted. Fortunately we carried with us a 
roll of carpet and a table cover, and with these we made an 
impromptu platform look decent 

From Hamilton we went to Bothwell. We had scarcely 
been ten minutes in the village when the secretary of the local 
cricket club invited my brothers and myself to join in the usual 
Saturday afternoon game. The sport took place in one of the 
numerous paddocks about the place. The club consisted prin- 
cipally of the trades folks ; also several persons who, from their 
bare black arms and hands, had apparently just left off work in 
a blacksmith's shop ; and last, not least the rector of the vil- 
l^e, who was as off hand and jolly as any other member of 
the team. 

We had another game at cricket, a few days later at a home- 
stead called " The Grange," where we spent the day with some 
acquaintances. There were other visitors, and after dinner we 
joined them in the game, which was played both by ladies and 
gentlemen, though the fair sex while doing their " fielding," 



8o Singing Round the World. 

showed a strong disposition to sit leather in a clump under 
shadow of parasols. 

We met here two young men, the sons of Gla^ow 
merchants, who were doing the tour of the colonies, partly for 
business, partly for pleasure, and partly on account of delicate 
health. We were constantly meeting them in our travels. 
We parted first in Melbourne, then saw them a short time 
afterwards in Sydney, where we again took a last good-bye ; 
then bade them adieu once more in Tasmania ; another fare- 
well to them in Melbourne ; then met them when we arrived 
in Scotland. They were fine fellows, and something above the 
average young men we met in the colonies. The young man 
in a new country, far from the old centres of civilisation, is to 
be pitied. There is an absence of that immediate bustle, life, 
and discussion of important events or great questions which 
press in upon one at home, like a strong atmosphere, at so 
much per square inch. Out here, of course, there are numer- 
ous libraries and reading rooms, but there is none of that glori- 
ous national history which makes a person proud of his coun- 
try. The colonial youth, I have no doubt, feels some Interest 
in the land where he was born aud brought up ; but as the his- 
tory of the colonies is as yet only that of material prosperit}-, 
the young man must of necessity be greatly material in his 
views. In Melbourne we met a young man from Launceston, 
who was an unfair sample of the rising Tasmanian, though one 
of a large class in the colonies — persons who are lacking in a 
strong moral sense — who will detail an arrant swindle on some 
one's part, and then, with open admiration, dilate on the fel- 
low's success. This Launcestonian was scarcely a worshipper 
of fraud, but he had an undisguised r^ard for what he called 
" smartness." 

One day we drove up to a wayside inn, round the door of 
which had gathered a group of men. They were chafRng an 
elderly, rough-dressed fellow, evidently an " old hand." 

"Bi", how's yer little farm? That pays ye .better than yer 
old trade, eh ? " 

"Come, now," retorted the old man, " my other biz was pro- 



A Stolid Driver. 8 1 

fitable enough — many's the handkerchief I nipped up, as neat 
as any man as ever lived ; but my fingers is stifif now to what 
they was in the good old days — see, they'll hardly curl up any- 
how ; but I'll stick a bullock with any man here !" 

" Now, you chaps," remarked one man, " do you know that 
Bill here was once in the bushranging trade, him an' a batch of 
other fellows, and when the police got after them one day, they 
all ran away, 'ceptin' Bill here — he threw up his hands an' pre- 
tended he'd been robbed by the other coves- — sharp practice, 
eh? Didn't he get sweet things said about him by the autho- 
ties, too ! an' you was the worst o' the gang, wasn't you, Bill ?," 

" Of course I was ; but I'll stick a bullock with any man 
here!" 

This old convict evidently had his tongue loosened a little by 
" nobblers." As a common thing, individuals may confess they 
have been " sent out," but it is always a most trivial affair they 
have been guilty of. Something or other has been "lying 
around loose." A man once remarked that he had only been 
" throwing a bit of lead about," which, however, turned out to 
be a case of pistol-shooting I 

In driving across Tasmania, we found the country very 
beautiful, but our spirits felt oppressed by the want of human 
life and industry, the absence of rural pursuits at times robbing 
the landscape of one of its principal charms. The pace of our 
team, too, was not quick enough to impart life, and the driver 
was stolid to all our hints. When we remarked that the axles 
were getting hot, he said that the wheels had been fresh oiled 
in the morning ; on our being solicitous that perhaps the harness 
might break, he eased our minds by telling us he hdd plenty 
more ; and when we praised the extraordinary " reserve of 
power" there was in the horses, he was mightily pleased. 

Life in these townships must be dull ; an old lady there told 
us, " It was vegetating, not living." At another township a 
stranger one day came into our sitting-room. The landlady 
whispered to us that this was a man " dying for society." He 
was rich, she said, but money could not buy company. So we 
tried to banish his ennui by talking to him, though his loftiness 



82 Singing Round th£ World. 

of manner was not very attractive. He said he had been bom 
in Tasmania, but bis father had come out to this colony fifty- 
two years ago, implying by this, as well as by other remarks, 
that his ancestry was irreproachable. The hotel was pretty 
comfortable, though it did not boast of " high living," the bed- 
rooms scarcely allowing a person to stand upright Our hair 
turned white in a single night, not from " sudden fear," but from 
whitewash off the ceiling. 

Launceston is a fine city, and not behind the southern metro- 
polis in the size or elegance of its buildings. It is situated on 
the River Tamar, which here is seen flowing in many windii^ 
towards the sea through level country widely bounded by 
moderately high hills. On Saturday night we strolled through 
the town in moonlight, and happened to meet a tall, brawny, 
Border man, who had been a great many years "out," and had 
lost not the slightest inflection of his vigorous accent He 
voluntarily confessed to having had two " laggings," but per- 
haps he was testing our credulity. However, he might at one 
time have been a poacher — indeed, he hinted to us something 
about his great delight at home being the shooting of game; 
He was a big, stalwart " dare-deevil " — a man fit at any time 
for a night struggle with a gamekeeper. But it may have 
been all our imagination. 

We saw the last of Tasmania in magnificent weather. The 
sail from Launceston down the Tamar — beneath a warm, 
lovely sky, with the river sleeping under a soft haze, and re- 
flecting on its unruffled surface every tree, bush, and rock upon 
its banks — will long be remembered. In Tasmania the delight 
of river And lake and sea is nearly always present We were 
transported, not to, but witk the charming little island. No 
one with the name "Van Diemen's Land" sounding to his 
ears can have any idea of the beauty, the quiet air of respecta- 
bility that now pervades regenerated " Tasmania." 



South Australia, 



CHAPTER VI. 

South AtutialU— Adelaide— A Feut of Gnpes— A Plague of Mosquitoei— The 
CoDDtiy Townl. 

Adelaide, the capital of South Australia, is 480 miles by sea 
from Melbourne. A substitute captain was in charge of the 
steamer in which we travelled, the regular skipper being down 
with the measles, a complaint then very prevalent in Mel- 
bourne and Ballarat One of the passengers was a gentleman 
with florid face and light side whiskers. He grew exceedingly 
confidential after a while — told us he was the son of a 
prominent English lord, and knew all the members of the 
aristocracy. He thought that he might — ^yes, he was certain 
he would — be missed in the drawing-rooms of England, for he 
was very intimate with the Prince of Wales, and often took a 
chop with him. But he preferred a roving kind of life, and 
was travelling to amuse himself. He had just come down from 
Queensland, where he had been shooting fowl, but (confounded 
nuisance 1) his man-servant had recently left him to get 
married, and that put an end to all his duck-hunting. Another 
passenger was a silver-haired, talkative, blas4 " world-tourist" 
** I'm now on my usual annual tour," said he. " My town 
house is in Belgravia, London, where I've got ferns from all 
the mountains on the globe. The Himalayas are my principal 
rendezvous, and I occasionally spend a day or two in the Vale 
of Cashmere Then there are Burmah, China, Japan, and 
Russia — all favourite touring grounds of mine. I've been all 
round Qreece and Italy, too. I recruit myself sometimes on 
the shores of the Mediterranean, and, in fact, you may say I've 
done the Seven Churches of Asia I" 

Adelaide has a population of 30,000. Its streets are wide 
and clean, and run at right angles like a gridiron. The post- 
office, town-hall, and one or two other buildings have elegant 



84 Singing Round the World, 

towers — several have graceful Corinthian facades. The city 
stands on flat ground, and is backed at a distance of four or 
five miles by a fine mountain range. There are excellent pub- 
lic gardens and reserves ; the Botanical Gardens are a favourite 
walk of the citizens on Sunday afternoons. Here, in addition 
to trees and plants of every kind, are monkeys, emus, Brahmin 
bulls, eagles, and some of the camels used in the explorations 
to the interior of Australia. Adelaide may be described as a 
snug, comfortable city. There is no poor quarter to speak of, 
and no poverty visible in the streets. The people seem well- 
off, intelligent, and not altogether swallowed up in their stores 
and offices ; the oar occasionally rests in the stream. There 
are a great many Germans in Adelaide, and here is published 
the only German newspaper in the Colonies, which journal, 
by the way, gave a flattering notice of our concerts. There 
are one or two villages up country composed entirely of the 
Teutonic element 

Being the month of February, the weather was very hot. 
Our life during this season was as follows. Awaking in the 
morning from a not very refreshing night's rest, we took 
breakfast with what little appetite we had. Then walking 
slowly down the hot street, the white glare of which was very 
hurtful to the eyes, and explained why so many ladies wore 
coloured spectacles, my father, brothers, and I visited the 
city baths, where we had an enjoyable dip. Somewhat cooled 
down, we proceeded to the free public reading-room, where 
you find the principal newspapers and magazines of Great 
Britain. Then we returned to the hotel, where a feast of 
grapes was at once laid out We bought them from an Irish- 
man across the way who kept a little grocery shop, and who 
made a practice every evening of leaning against his door-post 
and playing reel-tunes on a tin whistle, with what he thought 
an admirable imitation of the bagpipes. Grapes in Adelaide 
are sold at the ludicrously low price of three-farthings a pound. 
You can get them for eight shillings a hundredweight, very 
of):en for £^ a ton. The market price scarcely covers the 
of pulling them. Our sitting-room frequently looked 



Mosquitoes. 85 

like some Roman banqueting-hall. Every now and again one 
of us would come in, like a Bacchus, with an armful of bunches 
of fat purple grapes, and one of my sisters, like the goddess 
Pomona, with apples and pears. We had a centre-dish on the 
table constantly running over with grapes. One of my 
brothers would make a large purchase, and shortly afterwards 
another would come in joyfully with seven or eight pounds 
more. Then a friend would call in and say the fruiterer had 
not served us at all well, which meant that in the course of 
the day a boy would call and deliver a latge box of grapes, 

"with Mr. 's comphments." One family, with whom we 

became ver>- intimate, lamented they could not present us 
with some fruit from their own vines, as one night their horse 
had broken loose in the backyard and devoured all the best 
bunches. 

Long unquiet hours we spent at night lying awake and 
slapping at the mosquitoes, which here were more than 
commonly exasperating. The mosquito has a speckled body, 
long legs, and sharp, hollow proboscis. He settles, say, on 
your hand, and you watch him giving his tube a few flourishes 
at the start, like a carver's knife over a desirable roast ; then 
you feel' a slight sting, and know he has " struck ile." Down 
down; you see his sucker going, the mosquito gradually getting 
on tiptoe, till he almost stands on his head. Then a " thin red 
line " is seen forming on his body, which swells till you fancy 
the insect is going to burst, when off he flies to roost on the 
bed-curtain or the wall. When you lay your head down to 
rest the mosquitoes sing about your ears in duet, trio, and 
chorus. Ping-ng-ng! Whack! you hit yourself a loud slap 
on the cheek. Ha ! the monstef is joined by another with a 
voice as sharp and incisive as the point of a needle. Ping-ng- 
ng ! Whack 1 You miss him, for he snarls at you and flies 
back with increased vehemence. And so on — on — on for a 
whole night, till you never get a wink of sleep. By daylight 
you count the bites on your hands, wrists, and face — or 
perhaps ankle, if it has unfortunately protruded during the 
night A friend presented us with a vial containing a 



86 Singing Round t/ie World. 

vegetable extract which would not only banish the mosquitoes, 
but at the same time drive them mad. It almost drove us 
mad ! It was the vilest-smelling compound that ever was 
uncorked ; the only fault it had as a mosquito-dispeller was 
that we preferred the mosquitoes. 

We travelled for a month through the country districts, 
visiting sixteen- towns. Our journeys were, of course, accom- 
plished by coach, for the railway communication only included 
two suburban lines, and a line running something over a hundred 
miles north as far as the Burra Burra copper-mines. Most of 
the country is taken up with wheat-growing, Adelaide being the 
greatest centre of grain export in the Australias. Gawler is 
the principal inland town, and lies in the midst of a farming 
district Strathalbyn is the most beautifully situated of the 
agricultural townships. Tanunda, which we passed through, is 
one of the German villages, and there we aired our stock of 
" Deutsch " phrases. Angaston was an exceedingly clean and 
pretty place, noteworthy for its grapes. South Australia, in 
addition to wheat, is famous for its wines, which are growing into 
favour year by year, and are said to be little inferior to those 
of Europe. 

Copper is another great source of wealth to South Australia. 
At Burra Burra, Kadina, Port Wallaroo, and Moonta — the 
latter with a large population of Cornish miners — we saw the 
townships surrounded and intersected by ungainly wooden 
sheds, fuming chimneys, poppet-heads, and large hills of green 
ore, which latter gave a queer look to the scene. Kadina is 
situated on a plain. As we entered the town, an entire school 
turned out and gave us a vociferous " Hurrah !" We afterwards 
heard from the master, who was at one time a tutor of Helen 
and James, that he had aided and abetted the salute ! Port 
Wallaroo lies on an arm of the sea, and the ore is shipped in 
vessels to Adelaide. The weather was fearfully stormy while 
we were here. It was strange to see, in the dusk of evening, 
the wild dark sky, the trailing smoke from the smelting furnaces, 
the glare of the fires reflected from the clouds, and hear the 
lash of the rain alternating with the roar of the sea. This port. 



" IVater /or SaU" 87 

as well as Mbonta, is situated on what ts known as the Pen- 
insula, a most wretched tract of country. There is nothing to 
be seen but dingy scrub — not a blade of green grass to refresh 
the weary eye. At most places, indeed, there is not even scrub, 
nothing but bare earth, and the prospect is unspeakably dreary. 
We asked some Wallaroo friends if they did not feel dull, but 
they answered — " Not a bit We have croquet to amuse us in 
fine weather. There's pic-nics besides, so we're never lonely." 

After that, we could believe in lawn tennis on the Desert of 
Sahara. The Peninsula is indeed a dry, barren wilderness. On 
the way from Wallaroo to Moonta we passed a public-house 
that advertised " Water for Sale," and all along the road we 
noticed tanks dug in the ground to catch the rain-water. We 
arrived in Moonta during a blinding down-pour. " It was the 
same last night," said a townsman — " hc^sheads of water lost I 
the rain just.pouring to waste down the streets !" From Moonta 
we returned to Adelaide in one day, a distance of 1 1 2 miles, 
arriving that night at eleven o'clock, after a toilsome ride of 
seventeen hours. 

On the whole South Australia is an unpicturesque country 
— ^perhaps the least striking, in regard to scenery, of any of the 
colonies. In saying this, we do not forget a most pleasant day 
we spent with one or two friends at a pic-nic in Waterfall 
Gully, a few miles from Adelaide — a cool, sylvan glen watered 
hy a sparkling rivulet, that fell trickling over a high green wall 
of rock. We also thought this colony boasted rather hot wea- 
ther; but we did not experience the winter, which is said to be 
very enjoyable. South Australia, despite what may be consid- 
ered its trying climate, will assuredly flourish on its great na- 
tural resources. With its wheat, wine, and copper, it will hold 
its own against any of the sister colonies. 




CHAPTER VII. 



Voyage to New Zealand— Dunedin— The Water of Leith— A Toot Ihrongh Otago 
—A Concert in a Bam— The Highlands of Otago. 

Australia and New Zealand ! The two coloniep link them- 
selves together in one's mind, yet they are separated by a wide 
ocean. Melbourne is I4CX3 miles from Dunedin ; Sydney, 
1500 miles from Auckland, the passage at this time occupying 
six days. 

We sailed to Dunedin in the "Albion " one Saturday after- 
noon. Gradually we steamed out into the Port Philip Bay, 
past the steamer " Gothenburg," which was arriving from the 
Port Danvin Gold Fields in the far north of Australia, its fore- 
deck, poop, and bulwarks densely thronged with returning 
European and Chinese diggers. 

Next day (Sunday), a good sermon was delivered by & 
Presbyterian clergyman from Brisbane. The day was kept in 
an orderly manner, but during the afternoon some one was 
heard enthusiastically whistling sprightly melodies behind the 
deckhouse. "Impossible!" Cane in hand, with indignation 
in his looks, a zealous Sabbatarian strode round and — knocked 
his head against the cage of a whistling magpie ! 

The passage was rough, but not wearisome. Some of the 
passengers played rope-quoits, others shot albatrosses — the 
noble white bird, with its great wide wings, wallowing mortally 
wounded on the crests of the waves far behind. The captain 



Fire! Fire! 89 

was genial ; one of the mates was musical, and seemed to 
know as much of the Reverend Mr. Cunvcn as of Captain 
Maury. He was always humming over some tune or other — 
ordering the sailors to trim the yards with a do-re-mi-fa-sol ! 
telling the helmsman to keep a straight wake with a fol-de- 
riddle-i-do ! and taking his observations of the sun at mid-day 
with the full consciousness of knowing both the solar and the 
5ol-fa systems. 

Thursday morning at last, and the passengers gladdened by 
a grand view of the south-western shores of New Zealand. 
Lofty, sharp-pointed peaks towered away inland, their snow- 
clad summits blending with the sunny clouds that floated 
round them. 

Soon there rose ahead a high, tiare promontory — the Bluff! 
rounding which, we came into a spacious, wcU-protectcd har- 
bour. The steamer lay at the wharf all night Suddenly 
there \vas a cry of " Fire ! fire ! the ' Wanganui ' is on fire ! " 
The bells of both vessels rang continuously. The bowsprit of 
our steamer overhung the stern of the other vessel, and our 
sailors, in dread of sparks, set the pumps agoing and slushed 
the forecastle with water. One man excitedly tried to throw 
off one of the hawsers that held the "Albion" to the wharf, 
shouting at last for an axe to cut the rope through. The 
captain, pushing him away, darted on board the " Wanganui," 
and was drenched head to foot with an unlucky pail of water. 
Sailors of both steamers were there — a noisy, jostling crowd. 
Two women, just awakened, their faces white with fear, each 
with a child in her arms, were hastily handed.over the side of 
the vessel, " Hah ! there were five children ! " exclaimed one 
of the females, catching her breath, and counting the four 
youngsters which the sailors had gathered together — "There 
were five ; there's one amissing !" and she was in great distress 
till the little one, lost amid a multiplicity of deliverers, had 
been recovered. Buckets of water were swiftly 'passed on deck 
by a long line of bystanders. In an instant there flared up, 
higher than the funnel, a great red plume of flame, which 
flaunted amidst the smoke — then suddenly flickered and 



*■ fisflf<: ' v^-. li* in ^a^ieise exjct:^ rand>- When im- 
r^i''^— j'.g-.^T- -r^s =T£r ^x pasfc^BS bc£,3::c tbcssei-ves ta 
bttL 

We jefr ta die aiierT»:c cf nei; ds;.-, die rraaiiorr of the 
v>::rT!e;." besag aJccg £ b:<jd are cTp ftocs coast thst diaoe ont 
gTiECly !n tie setun^ sr_ Here aad liene wete TTnnims e 
vxi.bre ^^ve*. wri~e dirk sdes were lapped hy ibe heavy rise 
ary: fall c-i ihe sea. The ~ X.bnua '" was ia>3cec ai Port 
Cial:r:5r; r.txr — o— .:r.g ^\'hai? nere ire in SccAland? 
Ev«r.' per*'j3 ^c stcre naj talkie^ Sajtcfc, Tbeic were many 
ttlli for " I :^i:,'' cii^^erciia eDquirles for "Sar^dy." The high 
jzi'j-^r.'^r.- locking fr. the ha7bo'.ir ■a-ere cedCE-d^y ScoTiish in 
cKu'acteT, and had ihe fresh ^reecnesa, the bright *ook of home- 
u^zAtj- scerer.-. Eveijthir.g was redolent of ScMland. The 
waves Manned to Hpp!e taiian. the wind to coaa with a Scotch 
^'^jtrA. - A!; in for D'-nec:x' cried the rai'wsy guard. The 
trf'n piur.ged thro'^gh the short ttnnel piercing the hHI upoa 
^vr,i',h Port ChaliECTS is perched, and was rattling up to the 
'.4;-:ta:, '..!.\- some nine mile: distant. 

Through the Heads of P..'n Chalnier; — part of the irregular 
bh'^e: of v,hich harbour we were now outlining in a railway 
train — there sailed in 1S4S the nrst body of the Otago settlers. 
An association of 'ay members of the Free Church, and 
oopcrating with the powerful New Zealand Land Company, 
had bought from the Maoris the Otago Blocl; of 400,000 acres. 
This was the first of the so-ca:ied "■ class settlements,"* 
Canterbury being founded shortly afteiwards under the u~ing 
of the Church of England. Both settlements, however, ha\-« 
failed in carrj'ing out their original plan of denominational 
exclusivencss, which is not to be regretted. The new- 
community quietly progressed, til! in 1S61 gold was found at 
Gabriers Gully. From that time Otago has advanced rapidly 
to a first place among the nine provinces that compose New 
Zealand. 

The railway from Foit Chalmers to the capital followed the 
windings of the harbour. We discovered fine scenei^- one 
moment, and lost it the next, till at length a hill-spur, like a 



Dunedin. 91 

great green veil, drew off from the city and revealed it rising 
in an amphitheatre at the head of the harbour, with a picturesque 
lofty background of biish-crowned heights. The town seemed 
a great wave of streets washed up against the hills, with houses 
dispersed like spray among the wooded hollows all round. 

The hour being still early, Dunedin was not yet awake. The 
shop shutters were up — the business-eye had not yet opened. 
Through the quiet streets, that seemed as silent as if daylight 
had suddenly been let on at midnight, we made our way to a 
quiet temperance hotel. We had breakfast in a high-roofed, 
brge-windowed, warm-papered parlour. A dazzling white 
table-cover, radiant knives and spoons, rich creamy tea, thin 
crimp toast, delicious fresh butter, hissing ham and eggs, soon 
put us in the best of humour after shipboard discomforts. 

This hotel was a few steps from Princes Street, the principal 
thoroughfare, named after the beautiful boulevard of Edinburgh. 
Many of the names on the signs were Scotch. Scotch names 
bristle in the " Dunedin Directory " — of Macs alone there are 
two hundred, to say nothing of the Mrs. Macs and the Macs 
Junior. Shopmen, shop girls, clerks, and labourers were hurrj'- 
ing along the pavements. The faces we saw, bore the true 
Caledonian impress. The "honest men and bonnie lassies" we 
met at every step might have been transplanted from home but 
yesterday, so well had climate and colonial life dealt with them. 
The streets of Dunedin are named after the streets of Edin- 
burgh, but with confused topography to one acquainted with 
the Modern Athens. We were struck with the manner in which 
Dunedin has corroded its way into the hills. Ziz-zaggy paths 
tack up to the ridges of the slopes — deep cuttings run back 
from the main streets, and steep thoroughfares rise to the 
heights above — the houses seeming to .start simultaneously on 
a race to the higher ground, gradually to straggle, lose breath, 
and sift into mansions and cottages, till near the summit the 
goal is won by a number of handsome villas. At different 
places cuttings are vigorously going on, and the earth removed 
frcmi these is conveyed down to the harbour, where it is thrown 
ID for the reclamation of Many acres have thus been 



92 Singing Round the World. 

reclaimed from the sea, and houses are now built where the 
the tide once ebbed and flowed. 

On Sundays the church-goers of Dunedin form a well- 
dressed, most respectable crowd. There are no straw hats, no 
"pu^arees" or hat scarfs, no sun-shades, no dust-coats, no 
secular tweed, as you sometimes see in Melbourne. Most of 
the men seem deacons or elders, dressed as they are in the 
blackest of broadcloth and the glossiest of glossy high hats. 
The New First Church or Grand Presbyterian Cathedral, with 
its lofty spire and elegant proportions, is the chief building of 
Dunedin. The foundation-stone was laid by the late Dr. 
Bums, the pioneer of the Presbyterian Church in Otago, and a 
nephew of Robert Burns the poet. The church was opened by 
Dr. Begg, in the presence of iocx> persons, upon his visit to 
New Zealand. We found the interior of the church to be 
spacious. The collection is taken up at the door, as in the old 
country. In Scotland, the average offerings are copper- 
coloured ; here they are silver, which is mainly accounted for 
by the difference in money value. A person here puts in six- 
pence as he might put in a penny at home — a threepenny bit 
as he might a halfpenny. This may not be the exact relative 
value of the coins, but it is as far as church-collections go. In 
the heart of the town stands the University, a clock-towered, 
Grecian building, having in connection with it a considerable 
museum. Here, enclosed in glass cases, are specimens of moss 
and grass from the principal mountains of Scotland, and on a 
mantelpiece, in a gilt frame, a lock of Burns' hair, modicum of 
a larger lock owned by Jean Armour. 

One day we were invited to a pic-nic up the Water of Leith, 
the water supply of Dunedin. The party was headed by one 
of the leading botanists, who did not air Latin phrases more 
than was agreeable to ignoramuses. We arrived at what bore 
some resemblance to Hawthomden, near Edinburgh. The 
path through the glen was knotty with concealed roots of 
trees, and wound about through ferns and creepera Prickly 
bushes called " lawyers," or " stop-a-bit creepers," seemed in 
league to tear the clothes off our backs. On coming to the 



The Water of Leitk. 93 

clear running burnie, the ladies laid down their parasols, 
removed their bonnets, and otherwise made ready for an awk- 
ward journey. Overhead, about four feet from the water, was 
a thin covering of broad-ironded ferns, through which the sun 
shone with a softened light We were in a long leafy tunnel. 
Once we came upon an abrupt rise, and each had to climb up 
as best he or she could. A little dc^ flung itself repeatedly at 
the dripping rock, but fell at last into the water, and howled 
lamentably, till one of us brought it like a wet sponge to the 
upper ground. Another time, we came to a huge interposing 
smooth tree-trunk, up which steps had to be hacked with the 
axe our leader carried in his belt Stumbling, jumping, 
swinging by overarching limbs of trees — crawling under damp, 
bearded logs, we reached level ground, and there before us was 
the waterfall. It was forty feet high, and had been discovered 
by our friend the botanist only three years before. The com- 
pany picturesquely grouped themselves on the rocks. Sundry 
bottles appeared from coat-tails ; biscuits, buns, and short- 
bread were handed round. Some drank diluted gooseberry 
wine, others the water that ran past on every side. Finally, 
" Ye banks and braes " was sung by the whole of us, standing, 
and then we made our way back. When we arrived in Princes 
Street, it was dusk, which was lucky, considering our worn 
looks, fatigued walk, wet boots, and the amount of moss and 
mud still hanging to our clothes. 

As regards matters social, political, and religious, Dunedin 
lives in a very turbulent atmosphere. There seems to be some- 
thing chemically eruptive in the social composition of Dunedin. 
One theory is, that there must be too much of a Caledonian 
flavour in the community, and regarding Scotsmen as an 
essence, there may be some truth in the supposition. As far 
back as 1856, the Otago settlers were a controversial people, 
deep in religious disputes and newspaper broils. An English 
traveller, writing about that time, compared Dunedin to "an 
enclosure of wild cats, tearing out each other's eyes." 

Dunedin has great vitality — nothing lack-lustre and debili- 
tated about it, but a marked full-bloodedness. It is a sub- 



94 Singing Round the IVorld. 

stantial middle-class town, a town of labour and commerce. 
As to the working-classes, every man can clothe, feed, and 
educate his family, and have something to spare. Speaking 
roughly, there are no poor people in Otaga There is none of 
that poverty verging on starvation which is so painful to see 
and hear of at home. Food is cheap, clothing is not dear. 

In our comfortable hotel in Rattray Street, we were next 
door to the stir of the small BabeL At midnight, or rather in 
the small hours of the morning, as we lay tranquilly snoozing, 
we would be rudely awakened — not by a crowd of late-arriving, 
sea-sick passengers — not by a noisy breaking-up of heated 
revellers — but by a large flock of white-neck-tied clergymen 
returning from the Synod. They had usually a lively talk, to 
which the thin partitions made us involuntary listeners, anent 
the introduction of instrumental music, the joining of the 
Presbyterian Churches in the North and South Islands, and the 
state of the finances generally. But in a short time debates 
and debaters went to rest ; the organ question was followed by 
the smell of extinct candles ; the union gave place to hard 
breathing ; and stipends were lost in snores. 

On Christmas Day we were invited to dinner at a house 
some two miles from town. It lay behind the hills which back 
Dunedin, so that we might have been a hundred miles from the 
stir of the city. The country was open, undulating, and 
covered with tufts of heath. Coming to a white gate in a 
hawthorn hedge, we passed up a gravel walk, till we approached 
a large lawn, in the middle of which rose a high flagstaff bear- 
ing a red banner. About forty of a company had assembled 
— grandfathers, grandmothers, grandchildren, sisters-in-law, 
brothers-in-law, uncles, aunts, nephews, nieces, cousins, and 
friends of the family. There was a real Christmas dinner, with 
roast beef and plum-pudding as in the old land, and with as 
cheerful faces round them as ever were seen at any table either 
" here or far awa'." 

On New Year's Day, the town was alive with holiday 
makers. The Caledonian Games, held at the Recreation 
Ground, in the midst of green hills and grassy uplands, were a 



Our Concerts in Dunedin. 95 

great feature. The crowd, with its mixture of kilts, tweeds, 
plaids, silks, and satins, was an enlivening spectacle Tartans 
waved, bagpipes blew, flags flew. Every kind of booth was 
there, from the " Glasgow pie-shop " to the " Cafe de Paris." 
Pipers paraded in splendid garb, one man dressed in really 
elaborate costume, and with a ludicrously large blue bonnet 
The chieftain was dragging behind him a little fellow dressed 
as Rob Roy, and choking over a sponge-cake. The competi- 
tors for the races assembled. The herald of the course was 
the town-crier, dressed in scarlet coat, who, after tooting on a 
trumpet, came round, bawling " 'Pettitors ! prepare to henter 
the harenar — make ready for the final 'eat!" The utter 
Cockney abandonment of the sentence, coming in the midst of 
intense Scotch dialect, was amusing in the extreme. Foot 
races, reels, strathspeys, sword dances, gymnastics, tossing the 
caber, and putting the stone, followed in quick succession. 
Then came some exciting wrestling between a tall Maori and 
a squat Cornishman, the brown-skinned fellow winning nearly 
every bout In due course the sports came to an end, the 
Cockney trumpeter dropped his last H, and the crowd moved 
homeward to the tune of " Auld Lang Syne." 

Our concerts lasted five weeks in Dunedin, from Boxing- 
Day to Burns' Birth-Day, 1873-4 — a long-time, considering the 
fflze of the town. But one peculiarity of the colonies is, that 
entertainments run longer than they would in an equal 
population in the old country. When we arrived, the only 
available hall was the Volunteer Drill Shed, a plain spacious 
building, which by means of calico and banners we made 
somewhat presentable. Then we moved to the Masonic Hall, 
a smaller but neater place. Eight months afterwards, on our 
farewell visit, we sang in a fine new Temperance Hall. "Twa 
Hours at Hame," found great favour with the Dunedin folks, 
though jt might have seemed like "taking coals to Newcastle" 
to bring Scottish sentiment and song and story into a com- 
munity where the nationality was so pronounced. 

We spent six weeks in travelling through Otago. Having con- 
tracted with a coach-proprietor for the tour, there came to the 



96 Singing Round the World, 

hotel-door one Monday morning a coach with a staunch-look- 
ing team of four horses. The driver was a stout, whiskerless 
young man of twenty-one years of age. His name was Gideon, 
he said — or, as some called him, " Gid " — and others again, 
" Giddy." The rain was blinding, and the wind boisterous. As 
the coach drove off, kind friends in waterproofs waved their 
umbrellas and cheered us with prophecies of finer weather. 

Soon we were rolling along a smooth road. Through the 
heavy driving rain, lit up by fitful sunshine, we saw that we 
were travelling amid dark green hills, light green hills, yellow 
hills, distant purple hills, and that the landscape was treeless, 
save where blue-gums, like rows of nine-pins, had been planted 
as shade-trees round houses. The Australian tree flourishes 
well in its new home, and Government encourages its introduc- 
tion as a means of attracting rain, giving as a bonus two acres 
of land for every acre of gum trees planted. All along the 
road were neat mile-stones, somewhat monumental in appear- 
ance — little white tombstones marking the expiry of a mile. 
Arriving at a wayside inn, we watered the horses, while our 
driver, in obedience to the iron law of custom, went in to have 
a sixpenny drink — " swig a tanner," as he elegantly phrased it 
As we drove through the Taieri Plains, a fine agricultural 
country, the sky cleared. We were soon in the highest spirits, 
and emerged from our husks of rugs and shawls. Gideon 
whistled, and the horses had to be held in from a canter. The 
hill-slopes — spotted with small " tussocks " or tufts of grass like 
miniature sheaves — swept quickly past. Along the banks of 
the Taieri River — past a small lake glittering in the sun — 
down the Waihola Gorge — and through the fertile Tokomairiro 
Plain, we reached by a long straight road the cheerful-looking 
township. We found that the hotel-man, who also owned the 
hall, had, in his zeal to procure a good audience, displayed a 
large banner in our honour, and covered the township with 
small bills bearing the lucid intimation, " T/tey are coming ! " 

Tokomairiro, or Milton, as the Government name goes, or 
Toko as it is termed for shortness, or Tok as I have even heard 
it flippantly called, is perhaps the largest of the purely agricul- 



Tokomairiro. 97 

tural towns of Otago. It consists of one long street. The 
one-storey houses and shops, had here an air of freshness, due 
to white paint Though an exceedingly prosperous town, it 
was dull in appearance. There was nobody at the street 
comer — nobody near the bank — no one at the Council 
Chambers — no housewife shopping at the large general store. 
The draper was mechanically rolling and unrolling his cloth, 
selling and buying to himself The barber, hiding his hands 
behind his back as if they were contraband goods, not to be 
sazed even in friendship, alternately surveyed the pavement 
and his projecting rainbow-coloured pole. A solitary rider 
left the echoes of horse-hoofs lingering about the street long 
after he had gone. Milton may be called an epic town, most 
of the streets being named after poets. There is an Ossian 
Street and a Shakespeare Street — a Chaucer Street, a Spencer 
Street, and a Johnson Street — a Pope Street, a Dryden Street, 
and a Bums Street There is a cone-shaped hill a little way 
out, which might have been called Parnassus ; to be sure, it is- 
easy to climb ! 

We drove out with one or two friends to a bachelor's garden, 
some few miles from Milton. An uncouth wilderness met the 
view — gum trees, flax plants, and the poisonous " toot " plant, 
destructive to sheep and cattle. Through a maze of weeds 
and tall bracken, we were taken by the bachelor himself, 
coming latterly to a small gully, where one of us was severely 
stung by falling upon a hidden beehive. In Australia we ■ 
would have been frightened for snakes ! But it seems there is 
not a hurtful reptile in New Zealand, which fact was once 
satisfactorily explained by a learned Irishmen: — "As all of 
yez know. New Zailand is the antipodes of Ould Ireland ; so 
when St Patrick put his ban upon snakes in the ould counthry, 
b^orra 1 it went right through I " In the gully were bushes of 
luscious black currants, that hung in bunches like small grapes. 
Fruits, flowers, and vegetables seem to acquire extra vitality in 
Otaga You see cabbages and cauliflowers with giant heads, 
and fuchsias growing to be considerable trees. Crossing the 
gully we came to a hothouse filled with vines, and facing a large 



98 Singing Round the World. 

flower garden. Here bouquets, bunches of grapes, bags of 
■apples, and large branches of currants, were thrust into our 
hands. Unitedly thanking our kind host, we drove off — a 
moving horticultural show ! Next morning we were to start 
for Tuapeka. 

" It's past eight o'clock !" cried Gideon the driver, laughing 
and squeezing his head through the partially-opened door of 
our bedroom — " the horses have had their oats, and your own 
breakfast's a-waitin' !" My brothers and I jumped up, hurriedly 
swallowed our breakfast, hauled out our luggage to the door, 
loaded the roof of the coach with portmanteaus, packed the 
rack, ballasted inside with bundles, filled the boot with a choice 
assortment of parcels, and heaped up shawls and greatcoats on 
the box. Gideon came round leading the horses. ** All right 
there ? — in with them pole-straps, first hole — woa !— quick, 
fasten up the trace that side — back, steady, woa ! hand up the 
reins — all aboard ! — stand clear there — hi, lads, hi ! — Blossom, 
Jack, Nelly, Wall-eye, hi !" Crack, jerk, jingle, and we were 
rattling down Tokomairiro's quiet street at fully eight miles an 
hour. 

At Tuapeka, or Gabriel's Gully, there are a large number of 
cleanly, well-dressed Chinamen. At night they walk about 
with their fashionably-attired English wives. At our concerts 
they invariably occupied the very front of the front seats ! 
Many of them are capital market-gardeners, and indeed a 
number of places would be destitute of vegetables but for the 
enterprise of these Pagans. They have their weak points like 
Europeans. One " heathen Chinee " had been in the habit of 
taking his gold to a certain buyer, who, on John's departure, 
always found the precious dust to weij^h unaccountably lighter. 
So one day he watched the Chinaman as he put his gold on 
the scales. " Welly good gold, welly good," said John, while 
the buyer bent over the counter to adjust the weights. 
Glancing quickly up, the broker saw the Chinaman, with dis- 
tended cheeks, blowing down silently upon the scale ! 
Smothering an exclamation, he vaulted over the counter, 



seized the flying rogue by the pig-tail, and tarred and 
feathered him before a lai^e crowd of the townsfolk. 

We went south forty miles to Balclutha, a journey which 
our team performed in the wonderfully quick time of five 
hours. At a toll we were stopped by a portly, sunny-faced 
Scotch wife, who, finding we were Scotch also, thought it her 
bounden duty to ask for the " bawbees " in the broadest ac- 
cent at her command. Father, in a moment of inspiration, 
putting his head out of the coach, gave it as his deliberate 
opinion that she was the " brawest wife " he had seen between 
that place and Dunedin, " My certie, that's true ! " exclaimed 
the good woman, with a self-satisfied cast of her head — 
" there's no mony like me on the road — gude mornin' to ye 1 " 
And away we went, with many a laugh at the unexpected 
answer, so difl!erent from the bashful denial that had been anti- 
cipated. The road was lined each side by sweet -smelling haw- 
thorn hedges, alternating with low sod-walls almost overgrown 
by dense gorse. At one place an English labourer, evidently 
a new arrival, was breaking stones in a listless kind of way, as 
if clods were more in his line. He had on the usual English 
smock, which looked a badge of servitude in such a country as 
this 1 We never saw another smock in the whole of New Zea- 
land. 

Balclutha was a pleasingly irregular cluster of houses, cheer- 
ful-looking under the enlivening sun. The township is looped 
in by the River Molyneux, a noble tortuous stream with six- 
teen times the volume of the Thames. Balclutha is the centre 
of prosperous agriculture. In fact, the whole country from 
Dunedin to Balclutha, a distance of fifty-four miles, is one long 
settlement. One meets with strange characters in some of 
these country places. For instance, in the hotel at Toko- 
niairiro (spoken of in Scotch circles as Toakey-mircy) our boots 
were brushed by a fish-curer, who had just comeout from Lon- 
don, and who regretted his luck in not getting work so soon as 
he expected. We happened to ask what induced him to come 
out " Oh," said he, " I heard how the Otago folks were run- 
nii^ mad after people at tea shillings a day and their board — 



lOO Singing Remnd ike Wawid. 

tfiat's what did it ! " We thought it a {Hty that, when affairs 
really have a bright, glowing aspect, people should persist in 
making them too rose-coloared ; Otago could be a land of pro- 
mise without being a paradise. At this same hotel the waiter 
was a banished Communist, who had fought and been wounded 
in the streets of Paris, and been exiled for ten years He was 
a short, flaxen-moustached }*oung man, with a wealth of polite- 
ness and gentleness. I may here remark that unsuitable peo- 
ple sometimes emigrate: One day a man was mourning the 
lack of employment, but he turned out to be a glass-eye 
maker! 

We went on to Popotunoa, passing through much the same 
scenery as before. Popotunoa at this time was peopled only 
by a post-master, a blacksmith, a bricklayer, a butdier, a 
baker, two carpenters, and a hotel-keeper. A resident came 
up to us, gleefully rubbing his hands, and told us that he did 
not bake his own bread now, for to his great joy a baker had 
just opened shop in town ! We had here the good fortune to 
be the guests of the Rev. Mr. Connor, formerly missionary ii> 
connection with Nicolson Street U.P. Church, Edinburgh. 
We were kindly entertained at the manse, a pretty, wooden 
house of two storeys We were not to sleep under a private 
roof again for two years, not until we reached Napanee in 
Canada, where some of our relatives have settled. Here we 
met a Wick lady, who about three years before had come to 
New Zealand to be married. The wedding ceremony took 
place in Dunedin, and next morning the happy pair left for 
Balclutha. Sad to relate, on the way the coach upset and the 
husband was killed. 

We had the honour of giving the first concert ever held in 
Popotunoa, the receipts going to help the young kirk The 
"hall" was the bam of a neighbouring sheep-station. The 
seats were planks laid upon bags of grain, and an open loft, 
filled with sacks of chaff*, served as gallery. The platform 
was a few boards covered with carpet It was interesting to 
see the audience coming across the moorland — men, women, 
lads, lasses, mothers, children, shepherds, servants, and people 



A Concert in a Bam. loi 

on horseback. Every shepherd brought his " collie " with him, 
so the barn swarmed with dogs. The horses were hitched-up 
to railings, posts, and the wheels of drays. The barn [was not 
very brilliantly lighted — "chandeliers" being made of crossed 
pieces of wood, each with two holes, into which candles were 
placed. Perforated battens jutted out from the walls. At one 
«nd of the platform was a shaky door, leading to the shed 
which did duty as " side-room." In this door was a hole, and 
it so chanced that during my father's singing of " The Land o' 
the Leal" a poor dog jammed his head into the aperture, the 
melancholy howl that followed effectually banishing sentiment. 
Then the wooden chandeliers not being straight, the grease 
came dropping down. Icicles of grease hung on the walls — 
stearine stalactites drooped from the " candelabra." The lights 
guttered out one by one, till the concert concluded in the 
light of the dim globe-lamp. 

When the audience went outside they found that the horses, 
alarmed either at the singing or the applause, had stampeded. 
Walking back in the gloom we were suddenly met by a party 
of riders, who had been on the search for the animals. 
" There's nine of them gone," said a man in a big flapping 
cloak — " clean gone, and into the ranges, I'll bet" We were 
really sorry for these poor fellows. The black sky — the 
moonbeams striking through the rents in the clouds, and 
sweeping round like so many aerial bull's-eyes — the strange 
shadows on the hills — the sound of the wind as it rustled the 
high grass — the sight of the dark range far away, where the 
horses were supposed to have strayed — increased our 
sympathy. Nothing ever impressed us with such a sense of 
hopeless search as this night-ride of those men. After plung- 
ing through some half-mile of tussocks and climbing six or 
seven fences, we reached the Manse, and next morning had 
the satisfaction of knowing that most of the horses had quietly 
cantered home to their respective stables. 

We drove on to Mataura, passing through black grassy up- 
lands. This was a place so small that the impetus of the 
coach almost took us past the township ! We sang here in the 



I02 Singing Round tJie World. 

public hall, which is used as a court-house, a concert-room, a 
school-room, a church, and an assembly room for dancing. 
Even in this small hamlet, we had an audience of a hundred 
people. An old Highland couple, who kept a small grocery 
store near the hall, gave up all idea of the concert as the ad- 
mission was too dear. When our manager heard of that, he 
rushed across to the little shop and bought " Twa punds o* 
Scotch sweeties ! " No sooner had he got back td the hall 
than the two " auld folks " appeared at the door and smilingly 
paid to hear the " sangs." 

As we went from this place towards Invercargill we saw 
faint pencilHngs on the far horizon — the mountains of Otago. 
The road had a singularly anomalous appearance. On our 
left were fields of corn, protected by quickset hedges — on our 
right, rough tussocky country, enclosed by open fences. On 
one side, young English grasses, bordered by Australian g^m- 
trees (successful immigrants from a sunny land) — on another, 
hoards of wild Scotch thistles invading the soil, and pushing 
their purple heads between the tough, green, broad-spreading 
leaves of the New Zealand flax-plant. Well did the national 
emblem symbolise the energy and colonising spirit of the 
national character ! 

Invercargill is a thriving town, and its streets are named 
after Scottish rivers — the Esk, the Dee, the Teviot, the Tay, 
the Forth, and several others. Our concerts were held in the 
Exchange Hall, which, like most of the buildings in town, was 
composed of wood and iron. It was formerly a church in St. 
Kilda, near Melbourne, and the cost of shipping it to New 
Zealand amounted to £\qoo. Invercargill has a railway twenty 
miles long, which runs down to the " Bluff," the port first 
touched at by the steamers from Melbourne. The railway to 
the Bluff, in its early days, had many features in common 
with the " Innocent Railway " that used to run between Edin- 
burgh and Dalkeith. On board any of the New Zealand 
steamers, if you unfortunately start the subject of railways, a 
commercial traveller will inevitably, and with a premonitor>' 
chuckle, tell you a certain " comical old yarn about the BluflT 



Railway Enterprise. 103 

Railway," which narrative is, nine times out of ten, the same 
that you heard from a chuckling commercial on your last 
steamboat trip, and which you will assuredly be bored with by 
another on your next We heard, for instance, a story of how,. 
in those good old times, a mob of cattle would frequently get 
in the way of the train. This caused great trouble to the 
driver, who used at first to sound the whistle, hop from the en- 
gine, and chase the obstruction off with billets of wood. This 
of course grew tiresome, and the driver at last carried a collie 
dog on the front of the locomotive. The sagacious animal 
sprang off whenever cattle appeared, barked them some hun- 
dreds of yards up the line, and then resumed its warm place 
over the buffers. One day an old woman was driving her cow 
along the railway track. The morning express came puffing 
up at fully seven miles an hour. The ancient dame, ad- 
justing her spectacles, looked behind at the approaching 
engine, and thinking that danger was perhaps imminent, gave 
the beast an extra poke with her stick. On shambled the 
cow^-on jogged the old woman. " Get off the line t " roared 
the engine-driver. But the good dame tucked up her dress 
and kept stumping along. At last the buffer of the engine 
quietly impinged upon the " bustle " of the old woman's dress, 
or rather where a " bustle " would have been had there existed 
any such thing as " bustle " either in train or dress in those 
slow-going days. The driver, shutting off steam and shutting 
his eyes to the impending catastrophe, shrieked "Hi! Hi!'' 
while the old lady, dodging the buffer, uttered those ever- 
memorable words : " Man, ye're surely in an awlu' hurry this 
mornin' ! " So run the short and simple annals of the rail. 

At Riverton, a small township north of Invercargill, we 
found the hall in a woeful state owing to the wet weather. It 
chanced that the roof was in process of being unshingled, and 
tiie pouring rain had drenched the building. The public had 
therefore to be seated down one side of the hall, the wet 
portion being covered up with carpets. The effect of this lop- 
sided audience, as seen from the platform was somewhat funny. 

We went next to Winton, another small to re we 



104 Singing Round t/te World. 

got the use of the school-room by canvassing the majority of 
the inhabitants (who were on the school-board) and receiving 
their permission. From Winton we travelled up a long wide 
valley towards the " Elbow/' named from a sudden turn of the 
Oreti River. About three in the afternoon, we arrived at the 
Elbow Inn — a wooden building standing on an open, low- 
grassed plain, at the entrance to the Highlands of Otago. 
Inside the house was a blazing log fire — a great luxury, the 
wood having to be brought a distance of fourteen miles from 
the nearest clump of bush. The teamsters carry small braziers 
under their waggons. They cannot find wood everywhere, so 
they burn charcoal, and coal when they can get it. The 
Australian waggoner is far more favoured, as he travels almost 
continually amongst firewood. The landlord had been twelve 
years at the Elbow — " I came out from the 'art of London." 
During the gold rush to Quccnstown and the adjacent dig- 
gings, the hotel was in continual stir. " I made ;£^300 a week 
then," said he, "and in a smaller house than this. Three years 
ago I went back to London, but I didn't care for it at all — 
everything was so changed — I like this spot better, lonely 
though it be." I may state that the landlord refused to take 
sixpence in coppers which we offered him. '* Ha ha," he 
laughed, **we have no use for these here — who'd take them?" 
So we had to give him silver. 

Next morning we overtook one by one a number of carriers. 
English waggons, with their arched roofs of white canvas, 
could be seen for miles across the broad level floor of the 
valley. Scarfs of vapour floated midway down the mountain 
slopes ; one felt he could rend the mist by simply throwing a 
stone. On the higher peaks the clouds lay longer and heavier, 
but we watched them gradually dissolving in the sun, the 
white specks of snow twinkling through the thin edge of the 
mist. Some of the mountains, clothed in rich grass, had an 
air of grandeur and rudeness, mingled with verdure — Highland 
form and height, with Lowland snug warmth. The lonely 
vastness of the landscape seemed to affect the feeling of per- 
spective. Where there were no comparative objects, the moun- 



Lake Wakatip. 105 

tains became knolls ; but when a solitary pill-box of a house 
rested at the base of one of these knolls, the knoll swelled into 
a mountain. We had breakfast at Athol, a small village. 
The hotel people did not give us milk to our tea, and we felt 
a good deal ^^eved ; but presently our driver Gideon glided 
in with an air of mystery, and quietly handed us a cup of 
the lacteal fluid. He bad gone to the rear premises and sur- 
reptitiously milked the cow ! Then while the horses were 
having their oats we went across the road to have a talk with 
the blacksmith. This worthy possessed strong views on the 
land laws, had sledge-hammer opinions on squatters, talked of 
Athol farmers as being trodden under the iron heel of one 
man, worked himself into a white heat over local mismanage- 
ment, and blew a whole bellowsful of wrath against the Pro- 
vincial Council. We had begun to feel interested in his clang- 
ing conversation, when Gideon was ready to start, and we had 
to say good-bye. 

We drove towards Kingstown, the township at the south end 
of Lake Wakatip. The road lay through continuous chains of 
mountains. Along their base ran strange terraces or mounds, 
supposed to be the banks of some ancient lake. Now and 
then these struck out across the valley from each side, and met 
near the middle, leaving only a small opening for us to go 
through — like railway embankments with space for a stone 
bridge: Mountains rose round about us — crags with jutting 
slaty rocks that caught boldly the slanting rays of the sun — 
mountain slopes lined with watercourses converging into a 
central cavity, like the impress on top of a quartern loaf — and 
hills with soft-swelling, graceful slopes, whose harshness seemed 
to be concealed beneath the covering of grass, like the faintly- 
seen outlines of veiled sculpture. One chain was unspeakably 
grand, uplifting itself far above all around — a sloping range 
vertebra ted with peaks, a twin peak here, another there, then a 
lai^ molar peak, then another double fang — the range burst- 
ing into climax in the highest peak of all weighted with a mass 
(rfsnow. 



H 



Singing Round the World. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



Otago, like England, Scotland, and Ireland, has its we 
defined lake district The more important lakes are Hawi 
48 square miles in extent ; Wanaka, 75 ; Wakatip, 112 ; a: 
Te Anau, 132. The scenery of this region is regarded ' 
some travellers as scarcely second in grandeur to the Sw 
lakes. We sailed up Lake Wakatip from Kingstown 
Queenstown, a distance of twenty-two miles, in a laughal 
small steamer. The pole of our coach had to project over t 
side like a studding-sail-boom. The lake seemed about thi 
miles wide — a calm extent of water bounded at first 
massive mountains that came abruptly down to the wate 
edge. These could not have been less than three thousa 
feet high, and nearly all of equal height, walling in the \va1 
on both hands. On one side, the ranges were in deep shadi 
— on the other, flooded with sunshine. By-and-by the shado 
of the mountains, which had previously lain concealed up 
the lake, crept stealthily up the sunny shore, quietly scali 
up and gradually taking possession of the heights. Close 
the summit of the range, the aggrandising shadows were rr 
by a bright red glow, the rearguard of the retreating si 
which seemed to linger and struggle for the small vantaj 
ground till forced off by the overwhelming darkness tl: 
settled on the hills. 

We had tea served on deck by the attentive captain. Fir 
the captain came struggling up with a large tin tea-pot holdi 
two quarts. Then he recollected a knife was wanted, and doi 
he clattered for that. Then he remembered the butter — th 
the tea-spoons — then the milk. Then cups were wanted, a: 
last of all, he came up pufHng with a huge calico bag of sug: 
telling us breathlessly to " be thankful for what we had, thcr 



*^ Hurry up them Grmitersr 107 

some poor fellows on shore here who don't get their meals 
quite so regularly." As he spoke, the steamer headed towards 
a point of land, behind which rose a column of blue smoke — a 
signal from those on shore, for there were men here, working 
in the bush, whose only communication with the outer world 
was by the boat There appeared a hut, and a large fire, while 
on an extreme pinnacle of rock stood a man, towards whom a 
boat went off from the steamer with a well-stocked canvas bag 
of provisions. The man caught the sack, waved a hurried 
good-bye, and scrambled up the rocks. This scene was looked 
down upon by a most stupendous piece of scenery — a 
mountain of cliffs, one piled above another — mighty blocks of 
rock, cemented together with bush and brushwood, and tower- 
ing in blackness to the giddy height of five thousand feet. 
This awe-inspiring sheer headland is one of the ** sights " of 
Lake Wakatip. The scenery was on so large a scale that the 
steamer appeared to be motionless. The last place touched 
at was a gloomy little bay, where were to be taken in a 
number of pigs, owned by two Chinese passengers going up to 
hold their great New Year Jubilee at Queenstown. The boat 
was long in returning. "Hurry up with them grunters!" 
roared the captain. " All right !" exclaimed a voice on shore, 
••we're hard at work catchin' 'em!" Then followed a 
period of discord — soprano shrieks, counter-tenor screams, 
bass grunts — ^this porcine part-music occupying about twenty 
minutes, at the end of which a boat-load of pigs came along- 
side — the two Chinamen stroking the pigs fondly as they 
were deposited on deck. We reached Queenstown, which lay 
in a sombre basin of mountains, and appeared a cheerful com- 
munity of street-lamps. Upon landing we were assailed by a 
score of lanterns, one lantern quarrelling with another over our 
effects, and a good-natured bull's-eye conducting us to the 
hotel, where we were ushered to our rooms by a civil and oblig- 
ing candle. The house was kept by a German, and nearly 
every room was ornamented with a picture of the Emperor 
William. 

Next morning was sunny and cloudless. Opening the glass 



lo8 Singing Round the World. 

doors of the parlour, we stepped out on the balcony and beheld 
a view of striking beauty. On one side are the ^'Remark- 
ables/' the double peaks of a precipitous range 7,688 feet high, 
flecked with snow, and looking cold and distant, soaring as it 
were through rarefied air — a wall of granite scarred by torrents 
of melted snow — in form like some vast wrinkled iceberg 
drifted from lonely polar seas. All around are giants of 6,0CX), 
7,000, and 8,000 feet, while the head of the lake is crowned 
with the glaciers of Mount Earnshaw, 9,200 feet high. The 
various moods of the lake this day were wonderful. At first 
there was absolute stillness, and so perfect was the reflection 
that the eye could scarce detect the rim of the beach. Bush, 
house, sail, boat, and mountain-side were all in perfect dupli- 
cate. A wedge of sky, that came down between the meeting 
spurs of the mountains, was reproduced as an outspread fan of 
light in the clear lake. Then a storm burst with massive 
clouds, high wind, and curling waves. Towards evening the 
scene was superb, for the setting sun filled the sky with crim- 
son, shed a mellow pink hue upon the mountains, and trans- 
formed Lake Wakatip into a vermillion sea. Then at night, as 
the sky cleared, the stars shone bright on the lake like trickling 
drops of light, and the ranges stood in dark shadowy masses 
against the star-lit sky, mere silhouettes of their former selves, 
while a red raging bush-fire blazed far across the lake, and, 
with the help of one or two straggling clouds, feebly imitated 
the sunset of a few hours before. 

Next day we ascended a spur of Ben Lomond, a mountain 
overlooking the town. We had to haul ourselves up, hand 
over hand, by tufts of grass and bracken, and after two hours* 
hard climbing attained the summit Queenstown appeared 
below us, a cluster of microscopic houses peopled by black 
specks, with a white tortuous road winding behind it like a 
serpent about to enclose the town within its folds. Away to 
the left stretched a deep black gorge, gloomy, silent, and 
desolate, whose further extremity reached a faint silvery vision 
of snowy peaks ; and wandering through it was the lonely track 
that led to the gold-diggings in the ice-bound fastnesses of the 



Descending Ben Lomond. 109 

Sbotcnrer River. The whole scene was indelibly photographed 
upon our minds. 

The descent of this Ben Lomond spur was the hardest work 
of all. It took us an hour to reach town, and we did not waste 
time either. We slid, tumbled, and sprawled — botanized in- 
voluntarily over ferns — culled helplessly lai^e bushes of bracken 
— were scratched by prickly "Wild Irishmen," and tortured by 
spike-leaved plants. Down we came, each of us riding on an 
avalanche of earth. Two or three times we stopped ourselves 
on the very edge of steep rocks, some thirteen feet high, which 
we had to descend, holding on by the grass that grew in the 
fissures. One of us, luckily at a small rock, could not stop 
himself in time, and clutched at a rotten bush, but it came 
away with him and he shot over, gliding down in a halo of 
rubbish, somersaulting over some interlaced grass, and disap- 
pearing head foremost into a gully where we could hear his 
voice dolefully amongst the ferns. We hauled him out and 
found bis scratches few and harmless. It is needless to say we 
followed no system in coming down. Every one shifted for 
himself, one very often beneath the other, which was sometimes 
dangerous. Once a loud cry came from my brother highest 
up, and a lai^e slaty stone flew down revolving on its sharp 
edges. My brother below seeing it bounding directly towards 
him, rolled over and over to one side, lay flat and covered his 
ears with his hands till the stone crashed harmlessly past 
With such-like adventures we got to the bottom of this really 
precipitous mountain-side. 

At Queenstown we started on our tour through the gold- 
towns which lie in the great gorges of Otago. Driving to 
Arrowtown, we saw a solitary white spire [crushed between 
half-a-dozen converging hill-spurs — then, as if by magic, a 
long row of iron roofs sprouted out of the earth, the houses 
blossoming by degrees into sight, till a full-blown street, with 
squat shops, big signs, and chaotic mining, developed into 
view. Arrowtown lies in a wild spot, where high cliffs descend 
sheer to the Arrow River, bearing traces of many a " fresh." 
A rise in the river washes down auriferous deposits to Arrow- 



I lo Singing Round the World. 

town — the floods feed it with gold. Arriving at the hotel, we 
saw a cluster of men in the bar gazing rapturously at a large 
nugget which a lucky miner was holding in his hand. It 
weighed thirteen ounces, and was worth about £4,0. The 
owner handed it to us, telling us to feel its weight, while we 
congratulated him on his good fortune, and wished him " many 
happy gold returns." 

On the way to Cromwell the road wound along one side 
of the precipitous Kawarau Gorge, the first touch of real 
gorge scenery we had experienced. It was not altogether a 
time of pleasantness, for the road was without exception the 
dustiest we ever travelled. The wheels went down to the axles, 
while we got out and walked with invisible feet The road 
wound through the gorge at a height of three hundred feet, and 
at the Arrow Bluff it was fully four hundred feet above the 
dark-green Kawarau river, which seemed to be sluggishly 
moving far below, though in reality foaming along a rocky 
cliff-locked channel. Rounding corners, we would abruptly 
come face to face with great shoulders of hills, apparently 
instinct with life, slowly sinking as we descended, gradually 
heightening as we rose, and suddenly steadying themselves as 
we turned and drove straight towards them. Not long before 
this, a coach and horses had fallen over into the abyss and 
they were never seen again. It is pleasant to add that the 
driver and passengers somehow managed to clamber off before 
the vehicle turned over. 

We passed, during our drive, three mountain torrents of 
different characters, which the miners have shown by calling 
them the Weeping Lizzie, the Roaring Meg, and the Gentle 
Annie. You may miss seeing Lizzie or Annie but you cannot 
escape Meg — a rumbling, raging, scolding stream, her utterance 
half-choked by stones and boulders, which change her steady 
flow of eloquence into loud, foaming incoherence. At a steep 
" pinch " or hill my father got out and walked ahead of the 
coach. Turning a corner he was met by a man on horseback, 
who said " good morning " to him in an astonished tone, and 
then added, " Excuse me, but really it is so .strange, so vety 



Census- Taking. 1 1 1 

unusual to see a respectable person like you walking — very 
strange indeed." But when the coach came in sight the 
stranger rode off quite relieved. 

At our concert in Cromwell no less than a score of children 
in anus had to be refused admission, which gave rise to some 
grumbling. I may here state that our usual charges for ad- 
mission were, 3s., 2s., and is. in the larger towns, but in the 
country, owing to the smallness of the halls and the cost of 
travel, the "popular bob" had to be dispensed with — the 
public never objected to this, in fact at Cromwell the " small 
prices" were more than once complained of One miner went 
the length of telling us that " he felt quite insulted at the cheap 
prices of the show." The hotel at Cromwell was infested with 
rats. In the early morning my father was awakened by the 
noise they made, and discovered a lai^e rodent trying to drag 
one erf* bis dress boots through a hole. 

At Clyde the town clerk was in the thick of census taking. 
He called at the hotel. The printed form was very exhaus- 
tive, for there were regulations as to Maoris and half-castes, as 
to Chinamen and their wives, as to religious sects, education, 
sickness, infirmity, and other interesting matters. We were 
greatly amused on reading the schedule to see that one lodger 
in the hotel had put down his religious denomination as that 
of " boiler maker," and that he was suffering from the infirmity 
of the " Free Church of Scotland." The census-taker had to 
go into the queerest and remotest of places. "To-day" he 
said, " I intend to visit one family only ; then it will take me 
two days to reach the next, just a quarter of a mile off as the 
crow flies ; they're so separated by creeks and mountains." 
Census-taking is no enviable task here — through gorges instead 
of streets, and up hills instead of stairs ! 

Two or three miles from our next stage we observed on a 
rock, a flaming poster of our entertainment — a gleam of colour 
in the lonely landscape, though to be deprecated as a violation 
of the picturesque The place was pitted with holes. These 
frequently form the grave of some unfortunate " hatter," as a 
man who works alone and has all his property "under his hat " 



112 Singing Round the World. 

is called. The earth " caves in " on the solitary digger — he is 
crushed to death — and the folks think he has left for some 
other place, till one day another " prospector *' unearths a pick 
and a skeleton. 

On the way to Otepopo we were overtaken by a man 
on a scrubby red horse. He had a fiddle by his side, 
and told us he had been out playing at a country dance the 
previous night " Tm the boy for the Scotch reels/' said he ; 
** ay, an' I like a* kinds o' Scotch music ; eh, man, my twa 
favourite Scotch tunes are Auld Robin Gray an' the Auld 
Hunder !" and with his old fiddle slung behind him like the 
harp of the Minstrel Boy, he put spurs to his shaggy steed and 
disappeared over a hill. We passed the village of Hampden, 
where harvest had put an end to education, the schoolmaster 
having gone off to help his brother to get in his crop. 

The following day saw us at Oamaru, a sea-port town seventy- 
five miles north of Dunedin, and the chief town of Northern 
Otago. It is backed by the greatest wheat-growing district in 
New Zealand. The town is situated on an open roadstead. 
At the south side an arm of land stretches out with a headland 
at the end of it, to which they are at present building a long 
index-finger — the new breakwater of Oamaru. Ships have to 
discharge their cargo by means of surf-boats We saw a 
schooner unloading in the roads. A long cable stretched from 
the vessel, and on this a surf-boat was threaded like a shuttle, 
the crew hauling themselves backward and forward. There 
was a great swell on, and the boat pitched fearfully, one time 
completely hidden, the next standing high against the sky. 

The people here are very Scottish, as we found during our 
four concerts. On the Saturday night the town was full of 
harvesters, who came in large numbers to the hall. We met 
here a Scotsman who was a great admirer of reel-tunes, and 
who at various times treated us to a large number of songs set 
to Highland dance-music. 

"The Waitaki is up!" was the news we received in Oamaru. 
This river had to be crossed on our journey northward into the 
province of Canterbury. Word came that it was barely forda- 



Fording the Waitaki. 113 

ble; a hot wind having melted the snows on the Ranges, and 
swollen the mountain torrents. This river is 120 miles long^ 
and has its source in the Southern Alps, not far from Mount 
Cook, 13,000 feet high, and the monarch of New Zealand 
mountains. The Waitaki is the boundary-line between Scotch 
Otago and English Canterbury, so that "Both sides of the Wai- 
taki " may come to be as suggestive a phrase as '* Baith sides o' 
the Tweed." 

A drive of fourteen miles brought us to the river, where we 
waited three hours, watching through a glass one or two houses 
on the opposite shore, about a mile off. At length a boat ap- 
proached. The head ferryman, who was trying to discover a 
ford for the coach, came slowly across on horseback. He was 
a Norwegian named Muller — a big-built giant of a man, with a 
long red beard, flannel shirt, and tweed trousers. By his orders 
the luggage was taken out of the coach and put into the boat. 
Then, after my father, my mother, and my two sisters had 
taken their places, they were safely rowed across. 

The coach was not equally fortunate. Our driver, though 
sustained greatly by a dram he had taken at a cottage, was in 
great terror of the water, a brother of his having not long 
before been drowned whilst crossing an Otago river. Had it 
not been that my cousin and I went on the box as company, 
he would assuredly have thrown up the reins. It was 
certainly far from pleasant to see the grey current rolling past 
us at six knots an hour, and know that next minute we were 
to trust ourselves to its uncertain depths. The Norwegian was 
mounted on a bare-backed white horse, so as to be ready any 
moment for a swim. Gideon cracked his whip, and we 
splashed in, the rear being brought up by Robert and James 
on the saddle-horses. The coach gave a severe pitch, and a 
substantial wave came over the box-seat The two on horse- 
back had a bad time of it James, who rode a black pony, was 
every moment expecting to be carried away ; but he got at 
last under the lee of the large horse, and felt safer. Miiller tied 
a rope to the leading horses, to guide us round rd 

[daces — a proceeding which kept us contim 



1 14 Singing Round the World. 

for once or twice he turned us sharply on the " lock " of the 
•coach, and we felt the vehicle lifting for an overturn in the 
river. 

Another shingle-spit was gained, and Miiller again peered 
about for a ford, but the bottom was lost a few feet from the 
edge. We drove in at random, the Norwegian keeping close 
alongside our leading horses. All at once his white horse sank 
to the belly, and in a second the coach had crashed down into 
the deep water. We had gone but a few yards farther when 
Miiller suddenly threw^ up the leading-rope into the air, flung 
his hand back warningly, and sank with an ominous plunge, 
almost at our feet into an unknown depth of water. Horse 
and rider were swept before our terrified gaze away down the 
river. Clutching the bridle firmly in his left hand, the 
ferryman made a lunge with his right, caught the mane and 
held grimly on, while the horse swam strongly and brought 
him at last to a small point of land. The coach had been 
arrested on the brink of a hidden terrace. We trembled for 
the slightest movement of the horses ; but luckily they stood 
like statues despite the water surging up violently against 
their sides. Miiller made his appearance again, all dripping 
but hopeful, and got us out of our predicament by a sharp turn 
of the coach — telling us afterwards, in proof of the shifting 
nature of the channel, that he had crossed easily at this very 
place only the day before. When we arrived on the shore we 
found an hour had been occupied in fording, an experience 
that cost us thirty shillings. The Norwegian told us he had 
been ten years at this, had been swept off that same old white 
horse many and many a time, and had frequently to swim for 
his life. We would advise no one with weak nerves to ford a 
swollen river in New Zealand. A few days after, a number of 
passengers were fording this same Waitaki, when their coach 
upset and a " female magician " was drowned. We afterwards 
saw in the Christchurch cemetery, many graves of persons who 
had perished while crossing rivers. The inscriptions, which 
came home to us in all their force, included such texts as " A 
horse is counted but a vain thing to save a man." 



CHAPTER IX. 

The Canterbui; Plains — Chiistchuich — A Waterloo Vetersm— Wellington. 

This adventure was succeeded by a journey of twelve miles 
through pastoral country. There are some large "runs" in this 
neighbourhood. A story is told of a squatter who, in a tower- 
ing passion, ordered one of his men to leave — " A\vay off at 
once! "cried he; "get off my run this minute!" "What!" 
exclaimed the object of his wrath, calmly pulling out his watch, 
— this minute ! Why, I couldn't do it if I were to rush at a 
break-neck pace for three hours on end ! " We reached Wai- 
mate, our first experience of a Canterbury township — a collec- 
tion of neat cottc^es, painted a light salmon-colour. Next day 
we travelled to Timaru, where we said good-bye to our genial 
driver Gideon. It subsequently transpired that he made 
" something handsome " out of his return journey to Dunedin, 
as he picked up a batch of Chinamen on the road and brought 
them into town — or rather to the outskirts ; for, as he said, 
•* I wasn't a-going to be seen drivin' home with a lot o' Chinee 
d^gersl" 

We prosecuted our journey to Christchurch by " Cobb's 
coach." Inside the vehicle was a young lady barnacled over 
with bundles. The other passenger was an elderly gentleman 
with a red face and grey moustache — to all appearance a 
Crimean officer — who was called " the Doctor " by everybody 
we met A few miles out we came to a public-house. The 
driver handed the reins to the farmer, then slowly toiled into 
the bar. Three minutes elapsed. Out he came, wiping his 
mouth with the back of his hand. " What'll you have. Jack ? " 
said he to a man on the box " Oh, I don't know — I'll try a 
shand^ff." The Crimean gentleman emerged from the coach. 
" And what'll you take. Doctor ? " " Oh, a sherry '11 do me, 
thank you." After a while the driver and the doctor, followed 



1 16 Singing Round the World. 

by a foul-speeched swagman, returned from the bar. The 
driver goutily ascended to the box, rheumatically took the 
reins, serenely filled his pipe, nodded in a careless way to a 
friend at the door, and commenced an enthralling stable 
conversation. The military doctor crawled into the coach, and 
the swagman, uttering threats at some one in the public-house, 
reeled out, pitched his blankets inside the coach, and took his 
seat beside them. The mail slowly jogged off once more. 
We passed by plantations of gum trees, rows of bright yellow 
stacks, com fields hedged with gorse, green meadows, and a 
wide level plain far beyond — the grey road extending away 
ahead, till the unclouded sky came down like a bright blue 
blade, and severed it at the horizon. In time we reached 
Temuka, where the same drinking programme was gone 
through. 

Drinking here is fostered by the appearance and 'number of 
the " hotels." " Hotel " sounds more respectable than " public- 
house." The bars are opener, more numerous, and less 
clandestine-looking than at home. Colonial Bill, when he 
beckons his chum Tom to have a " nobbier " over the way, is 
only increasing his long-established fame for good-fellowship. 
The digger, when he leaves his lonely gully and comes down 
to civilisation, has a "blow-out" with his friends — so has the 
shepherd when he pockets his cheque for some months' work, 
and leaves for a while the solitude of a sheep-station. No 
company of average men assembles, but some one " shouts " or 
"stands " drinks all round. Mr. Black meets Mr, White, whom 
he has not seen for a whole week, and the consequence 'is a 
couple of ** drinks." Jones has something particular to say to 
Robinson about the weather — they step "across the road." 
Smith settles an account with Brown, and "two nips of 
brandy " are immediately called for. " Nobblers " act as the 
receipt-stamps of business. It is but fair, however, to state 
that there is a considerable absence of staggering drunkenness. 
There is more of what we might call casual conviviality, but it 
cannot be said there is more intemperance in the colonies than 
in the mother-country. 



A ''Dog WatdC 117 

' We stayed two days at Temuka and then caught the next 
coach, which left at eight in the morning. The track lay 
through a continuous sea of grass. Some passengers in the 
front part of the coach became extraordinarily happy, taking 
at frequent intervals a bottle out of a black bag. The jolly 
company established a " dog-watch," which meant that every 
dog met in with was to be the signal for a drink all round. 
The first seen was a boundary-dog chained to a break in a 
fence to prevent sheep straying from one run to another. It 
was a fierce, leaping, howling brute, with teeth like tusks and 
brown matted hair that flapped in long ragged strips over its 
back and over its ^yt/^. It was fastened to a wooden kennel, 
and within the radius of its tether were red fleshy bones of 
sheep, a skull and half-crunched ribs, which the dog dragged 
rattling around with its chain as it wheeled and bounded 
furiously at the coach. Poor boundary-dogs, what a life they 
lead I — no society, nothing but an occasional coach to remind 
them of the outside world. They are said even to bark at a 
passing shower by way of variety ! 

In the middle of the plains we drew up alongside a post on 
which was nailed what looked like a small writing-desk. The 
driver leant out, lifted the lid, took out a small leather bag and 
drove off. It was a bush post-ofBce — a very private letter-box 
belonging to some sheep-station. Then the horses as if by 
mutual consent, took it into their heads to ** bolt*' With 
vigorous gallop they careered along the plain. The team was 
guided off the road, and the frantic animals swept round in an 
immense circle on the plain. All fear and anxiety gave place 
at last to curiosity. " How long would they keep it up ?" For 
nearly a quarter of an hour they dragged the coach round and 
round ; but at the end of that time they sobered down to a 
smart trot, and all steaming and sweating, they were headed 
back to the road. A passenger was picked up — an open-faced 
young Irishman. " Ach ! this country is no good," said he, 
^ the best of the land's all taken up, and you can't get work 
when you want it — and little enough wages, toa" Cro8»* 
ucamining him, we learned that he had been fivr 



Ii8 Singing Round tlie World. 

harvesting and was £2$ in pocket "Troth, that's a fact," said 
he ; "I cleared five pounds a week. You see Tm one of those 
chaps that's always grumbling, and don't know when they're 
well off." Leaving Ashburton, where we had dinner, we 
passed paddocks of green grass, marshalled round in military 
fashion with sentinel poplars, outside of which bristled like 
bayonets the fixed blades of the flax. Eighteen miles of dull 
plains, a thirty miles' night-ride on a railway, and we sighted 
the street-lamps of Christchurch. 

We got into a real English cab. The driver was a stout, 
garrulous old man, who, ere we had driven thirty yards, said 
he was a Herefordshire man, and had struggled long in the 
province. " I've *ad my ups and downs," said he, " an' worked 
'ard in my time, but, (giving his horse a crack of the whip), 
I'm blowed if I ever 'ad such easy work as this !" The cab 
turned into a quiet part of the town, consisting of detached 
houses, walled gardens, and numerous white gateways, and 
presently landed us at a verandahed hotel, surrounded with 
trees. The waiters brought us the numbers of our rooms. 
Candle in hand, I walked down a long passage, looking for 
No. 36. No. 7, No. 8, No. 9 — 10, 11, 12 — confound it! — 17, 
1 8, 19 — no appearance of 36 here! Back again, and along 
another corridor, with a narrow channel, dangerous to navigate 
from the numerous reefs of boots lying on either hand — alas ! 
here was the end of the passage — 50, 51, 52. What was to be 
done? As a last resource I darted off to some rooms by 
themselves — 70, 80, 81, — no use! Getting hold of the waiter, 
he exclaimed, as an idea seemed to flash on him — "Oh! I 
know where you've gone wrong! open the door of No. 12 
bed-room, and that will show a long passage — go straight 
down that!" Doing all this, I came to Nos. 23, 26, 30, 35 — 
— but no 36. Arriving at a small staircase, there at the 
bottom of it was the long-sought-for number ! When I had 
shut the door, what was my surprise to see across the room 
another door. The apartment resembled those of old German 
inns, associated with robbery, murder, and ghost stories, where 
the door handle slowly turns, and a mysterious white figure 



Christchurch. 119 

glides in upon the tenant of the room — Ha ! the handle of this 
door really did\x%\Xi to turn, and a man in a white glazed coat 
stepped suddenly into the floor — "What? are you 33 too? 
demanded he, pointing to that number on his door. " No !" I 
exclaimed, pointing to my door — "I'm 36!" Tableau. We 
both laughed heartily, and each took one of the two beds that 
occupied the room. 

Christchurch has about 10,000 of a population and is a fine 
mellow city. The streets are named after Church of England 
bishoprics, and the asphalte pavements are sheltered with glass- 
roofed verandahs. Small reserves of English elms delight the 
eye at frequent intervals, and every vista ends in clumps of 
willows. There is a freedom of style, an air of saying, " This 
is a street certainly — it cannot altogether be di^uised — but 
everything has been done to make you believe otherwise." In 
one quarter we came upon a cluster of flesh-coloured wooden 
bouses, with high peaked gables, hanging eaves, and panelled 
fronts outlined in brown^— like theatrical cottages or old English 
faostelries — with attics, too, goggling out of the steep roof like 
staring eyes, as if the houses were in great wonder at the more 
modem buildings around. 

The hotel was excellent — the charges moderate, as in most 
New Zealand hotels. Eight to ten shillings a day is the usual 
charge for a single person — boarders by the week pay two 
guineas. The servants were all English. Instead of the 
Bridget and Molly of Melbourne, or the Jessie and Maggie of 
Dunedin, we had Sarah, Susan and Mary Jane The boarders 
were chiefly clerks, bank managers, families on visits, squatters 
and squatters' sons. Some of the young gentlemen spent the 
day in playing billiards or hanging round the smoking-room ; 
others in shooting, boating, and cricketing. Once a party of 
them came home in a lamentable, almost ludicrous plight — 
one run over by a waggonette, another with his arm in a 
sling, and a third fearfully lame from football. In a day or two 
however, they were all up and doing — nothing. A few steps 
from the hotel was the pretty little River Avon, its banks 
flheltered by heavy-plumed willows, that threw their dense 



I20 Singing Round the World. 

shadows upon the stream. Near here were the public gardens 
enclosed in a pear-shaped loop of this River Avon. The 
walks, dotted with rustic seats, were exquisite. A small park 
contained a number of deer so tame as to troop round and eat 
out of one's hand. In the centre of a grassy reserve forming part 
of the gardens stands the Museum, a spacious building under 
the directorship of the well-known Dr. Haast 

One day a Waterloo veteran called on us. He was a physi- 
cal wonder — eighty-four years of age, yet straight as a poker, 
with a fine head and bold features. He launched at once into 
anecdote and reminiscence — telling us, in one continuous 
stream, the principal events of his life. He was born in Fife, 
but had Highland kinsfolk — enlisted early as a soldier, and 
lodged at the house of Mrs. Grant of Laggan — knew Jamie 
Hogg, and used to " blow up " Nathaniel Gow for his ** new- 
fangled " arrangements of reels — went all through the Penin- 
sular War, learned Gaelic from the Highlanders on the heights 
of Montmartre, plunged into the gaieties of Paris, fought at 
Waterloo, and had been on half-pay since 1817. We seemed 
to be shaking hands with the past The veteran, however, was 
as full of the present as any one of the rising generation — ex- 
plained the land laws of the colony, spoke of " ceevilisation ** 
as " deevilisation," and, with " kindling fury in his breast," in- 
veighed against the reigning follies of the day. Suddenly, like 
the great Alexander, his mood changed, for, seeing a fiddle ly- 
ing on the table, he snatched it up,, and dashed at once into a 
most inspiring strathspey. Then he took a breath, said some- 
thing more about Nathaniel's bad arrangement of reels, picked 
up his stick, made a salute, and went towards the door ; but 
abruptly stopped, wheeled round, and gave us the whole of the 
sword exercise in a most masterful style — then made another 
salute, went off in double-quick time, and strode erect, with 
martial step, down the gravel walk in front of the hotel. This 
vigorous old man was like a great gulp of mountain air in this 
placid city of Christchurch. 

Being a Church of England settlement, you are apt to ima- 
gine this town more English than it really is. At one time, in- 



Yams of the Sea. 121 

deed, the Canterbury Pilgrims, as the early settlers were called, 
"ruled the roast" in social matters. Those who came out in 
the " first four ships " were looked up to by later arrivals. To 
have "come over with the Conqueror" bade fair to pale in face 
of having " come over in one of the first four ships," But the 
old worthies are dying out now ; and on great social occasions, 
or at public meetings, the " fifth and sixth ship " people have 
to be brought in to do the honours, Scotchmen have now be- 
come largely part and parcel of the community, and English 
people playfully introduce quaint Scotch words and phrases 
into their conversation. Even the French man-cook at the 
hotel, when we asked him how he was, burst out briskly with, 
" Ha I eem per-r-rawlee, zenk you for zbeeren ! " We were 
told that of all the mayors who have held office tn the city, 
two only have not been Scotch. 

We left Port Lyttelton for Wellington in a steamship 286 
tons. The passengers were chiefly commercial men, several 
folks on urgent business, one or two going to attend some 
meeting or market — in short, persons who had to travel, and 
could not help it We did not see in New Zealand so many 
people on pleasure trips, or on friendly visits, as we would have 
observed in the old country. Steamboat accommodation was 
not in a very matured state on the New Zealand coast. The 
vessels were small, often over-crowded, and not very punctual. 

In the course of the morning, after the steamer was fairly on 
its way, some of the passengers gathered into a group and 
amused each other with "yams of the sea" One man related 
an incident that occurred to his friend Brown, when, upon 
arriving from England at Port Lyttelton, the passengers drank 
the health of the vessel. Brown, a water-drinker, being asked 
to partake, said, " No ! I'm a teetotaler ; but (with a jaunty 
air), I'll willingly drink success to the ship in the liquor she 
floats in!" His friend disappeared, and returned with a 
tumbler of water. After a complimentary mumble, Brown 
gulped it off at once, but immediately spluttered out, " Ugh ! — 
ah— ow ! — this is — ooh ! — Epsom, Gregory — what — what the 
materia medica is this?" "That?" exclaimed his friend; 



122 Singing Round the World, 

** why, youVe drunk success to our noble ship in the identical 
h'quor she floats in !" Of course there was a loud laugh at this 
story, which encouraged another man to burst out with ** Ha, 
ha, ha — talking of drinking, the ship I came out in had a 
captain and mate who were continually quarrelling on the 
voyage. They fought it out in the log-book. The captain 
wrote down one evening, * Mate drunk to-day,' which the mate 
no sooner saw next morning than he scribbled underneath, 
* Captain sober to-day !' Had him there!" With stories like 
these the time passed pleasantly. The shores of the South 
Island became indistinct, and presently there was sighted the 
entrance to Port Nicholson, the harbour of Wellington — a 
rugged mouth, armed on the western shore by sharp rocky 
teeth, between which were sticking the bones of several vessels 
wrecked during a gale. 

Port Nicholson is seven miles long and five miles broad. 
Wellington is built on a fringe of land, backed by hills like 
Dunedin. It is the capital of New Zealand, and has 10,675 
inhabitants. Imagine a timber-built metropolis ! Wellington, 
being subject to earthquakes, is constructed entirely of wood. 
Grand towers, steeples, balconies, and shop-fronts are seen at 
every turn — all wooden, but having quite an ** imposing" look 
even when you are close to them. We lived at the Empire 
Hotel, a building formerly a theatre, so there was plenty of 
space everywhere. The water of the harbour came close to 
the hotel and lapped the stone foundations, putting us greatly 
in mind of the amphibious houses of Lerwick, in Shetland. 

No one who intends making Wellington his home need be 
frightened at the earthquakes. The shocks at Wellington are 
as distinct from the earthquakes of South America as a breeze 
is from a typhoon. Wellington is the centre of atmospheric as 
well as terrestrial disturbances. The blasts blow over the 
harbour remorselessly. As a Dunedin man it is said, can be 
told by his stoop, as if climbing hills ; so a Wellington man is 
known abroad by the mechanical way he screws up his eyes 
and claps his hand on his hat ! Every night we saw about as 
queer a way of lighting street lamps as could well be imagined. 



The Maories. 123 

A rattle of hoofs was heard and a man cantered up on horse- 
back to a lamp-post. He drew bridle, rose up, stood on the 
saddle like a circus-rider, struck a match, lit the lamp, sank 
once more Into the stirrups and galloped noisily off — the 
rapidly-increasing lights bearing testimony to the quickness of 
this novel system. 

Here we saw Maories for the first time in any numbers. We 
met a native in velvet coat, light tweed trousers, and white hat, 
with silver-headed cane and heavy gold chain, and tattooed so 
that you could scarcely distinguish his eyes. He looked as if 
he owned thousands of acres, as perhaps he did, or as if he 
were a member of Parliament, as perhaps he was, for there are 
four Maories now in the Assembly — two on the Government 
benches, and two on the Opposition. Maories are worldly 
wise and take care of their broad acres, leasing them well or 
selling them at a goodly price. Many of the natives are rich, 
have large farms, and bring their crops to market as regularly 
as any of the settlers. The Maories are well-built fellows with 
brown skin, black straight hair, sharp eyes and high cheek- 
bones. The older natives bear the tatoo marks. As for the 
women when young they have a kind of comeliness, but they 
age fast and are inveterate smokers. 

Two of the churches in Wellington are Presbyterian, One 
pulpit was filled by a clergyman from Ayrshire, from whom 
we heard a sound practical sermon on the text, " Look also on 
the things of others," in the course of which he urged his 
congregation " to go down to the wharf when a vessel appears, 
take notice of the numerous immigrants arriving on their 
shores, speak kindly to them, and shelter them if necessary, or 
at all events give them cordial welcome to this strange, new 
land." One should not miss seeing the Museum, which is 
worthy a visit, if only for the sake of the memorials of the 
Maori war. But even more interesting to us was the " Maori 
House," which has lately been added to the building. It was 
built in 1842 by the Ngatikaipoho tribe, as a monument to the 
memory of a departed chief The walls were ornamented by 
thirty-two beads of celebrated Maories, carved out of totara 



124 Singing Round the World. 

wood — hideous faces, carved and tattooed out of all trace of 
human lineaments, as if the originals had died from an eruption 
of filigree ornament The big eye-sockets were filled in with 
green mother-of-pearl shells, which glistened horribly after us 
as we moved about the room. The heads are supposed to be 
true portraits of different individuals — to us they were all as 
like as two peas — but the Maories may have as much imagina- 
tion as is required when we wander past the "long line of 
kings " in the Picture Gallery of Holyrood. 

The Houses of Parliament are as grand as it is possible for 
wood to make them. We were taken over the buildings by Mr. 
M*Coll, the Government librarian, a warm-hearted Scotsman, 
who showed us repeated kindnesses during our stay. A large 
sum of money is to be spent on Parliament buildings; but un- 
certainty prevails about constructing them more substantially, 
as at any moment an earthquake might " make a motion " in 
the House. We were fortunate enough to be present at two 
sittings. Across the House from us sat two of the Maori mem- 
bers who find a place in the Assembly. One tattooed states- 
man rose, and spoke regarding ** A Committee on Native Griev- 
ances " — gobbled in fiery Maori accents, while a prosaic inter- 
preter coldly translated his clauses into English. Another night 
we heard Premier Vogel deliver his " Budget Speech." One of 
the benches was occupied by our strange trio of the previous 
evening. One native leant over one end of the seat fast asleep, 
the other also snored full length, while on the limited space be- 
tween them sat the interpreter, with folded arms and closed 
eyes. The cause of this somnolency no doubt lay in the fact 
that nothing more important than Immigration and the state 
of the Exchequer was on the tapis, to the exclusion of all Maori 
grievances 1 

One of our mornings was taken up by a gossip with a very 
old but well-preserved gentleman from the Hutt Like the 
veteran we met in Christchurch, he was interested in events 
that had long passed into history. His conversation was 
musty — he seemed to be speaking in old-face type. He was a 
university-bred Edinburgh man — was acquainted with men 



The Hutt Valley. 125 

that were friends of Burns — knew " Chloris " and " Clarinda," 
and spoke of the Potterow as quite a fashionable street His 
antique gossip was interspersed with fragments of Scottish 
songs, but always the versions that have become almost 
obsolete. In bidding him good-bye, we felt like losing our 
hold on the link of a chain that stretched back into " auld lang 
synt" 

In the colonies a person's home-yearnings lie considerably in 
a culinary direction. An example came before us here of a 
couragreous but inexperienced lady trying to please her Scottish 
husband by making a haggis I We had the thrilling story from 
her own Hpsi After prolonged research, the ingredients were 
all carefully collected and prepared. Then a female friend was 
called into consultation. Flump I went the globular mass into 
the pot A mutual smile of triumph spread over the faces of the 
two ladies, but it was quickly changed to an expression of dis- 
may as they saw the unlucky haggis floating on the top I 
Strenuous efforts were made to poke it down, but the national 
dish obstinately persisted in its attempts to prove itself light 
eating. The despairing operators latterly called in an experi- 
enced woman from next door, who counselled them to puncture 
tbe padding with a fork. This done, to the joy of all concerned, 
the offending haggis " sank beneath the wave." After some 
hours boiling, it was dished, but the result proved utter failure, 
for the haggis was unfit to eat, and was viewed with a distaste 
which not even a strong love of country could successfully 
overcome. 

We had an interesting drive to the Hutt Valley in a cab, the 
glazed side-curtains of which had been blown to pieces a day 
or two before by a violent gale. At Ngahauranga we were 
shown where stood in former years the pah of Waripori, an 
influential Maori ; but its strength and glory have long since 
decayed, and all that is seen on the hillside now is the monu- 
ment to the great chief — his once formidable war-canoe, half 
buried, prow up, in the earth that covers his remains. The 
Hutt Valley is a quiet place, shaded by steep hills, and fertile 
— the scene of the first serious Maori outbreak — known to old 



126 Singing Round tfie World. 

colonists as " Heke's War." During the few hours of our visit 
we met my father's aunt and some other distant relations ; met 
also a man who was the only surviving member of a large 
family murdered by the Maories. We went into a general 
store, the keeper of which had been thirty-four years here, 
and had led a peaceable life with the natives. He had not 
much to say against them ; they trusted him, or rather he 
" trusted " them. It would seem the only way to gain the 
confidence of a savage is to deal honourably by him. Of 
course there is another side to the picture. Before the war of 
1846, some of the Maories had got largely into debt with the 
storekeeper, who had been just a little too trusting. After the 
fighting was over, he ventured to put in his little bill, but it 
was laughed to scorn. " No, no," said the Maories, " the war 
pay all!" 

Crossing Cook's Straits to Nelson was a rough journey, the 
steamer encountering the usual gale that blows through what 
may be termed the '* Channel passage" of New Zealand. The 
spray flew over the vessel ; one blast tore a sail into rags. 
Irishmen, Germans, Chinamen, and Maories filled the fore part 
of the small steamboat. About dusk we approached the lofty 
headlands of Queen Charlotte's Sound, up which we steamed 
to Picton, a port on the way to Nelson. The population is 
not large, but has swollen 300 during the last three years, 
owing, as a rival town has it, to a vessel having been wrecked 
here, and relieved of her passengers ! The steamer left Picton 
at four in the morning, and about breakfast-time neared the 
" French Pass," which separates an island from the mainland. 
The sail through the exceedingly contracted passage, with 
high cliffs on either hand, was very interesting. We could 
have thrown a biscuit on shore at one side. The steamer 
entered Blind Bay, and drew up gradually to Nelson. By- 
and-by we noticed that what we had taken for a long stretch- 
ing shingle beach began to move past quicker than the coast- 
line. Of course we concluded that this "beach" was much 
nearer to us than the shore, and soon found it was the famous 
Boulder Bank, the natural breakwater to Nelson Harbour. 



The Garden of New Zealand. 12/ 

This strange formation runs for eight miles along the coast, 
and is supposed to have been washed down from a headland 
and gradually carried out by the tides. 

The town rises on a gentle slope from the harbour. It is 
cradled amongst hills, and fanned to sleep by warm zephyrs, 
with its back turned to the winds and the tumult of the Straits. 
By universal consent it is called the "Garden of New Zealand." 
The streets of the town are roads — the houses principally peak- 
gabled wooden houses. From a hill we looked down upon a 
beautiful view. Nelson lay interspersed with trees. Round 
about were vineyards with yellow foliage, bright red bushes, 
elms, beeches, and willows. Little singing streams, crossed by 
hand-rail bridges, ran into gaps of hawthorn hedges ; larks, 
which are numerous in the province, carolled above us. Blue- 
roofed cottages were perched on the hill-slopes, with a wealth 
of flowers in front of them, like baits for more sunshine. The 
river Matai flowed at our feet, dazzling with broken light, as if 
it had washed down diamonds and silted them up in its 
channel. Beyond the town lay the tranquil harbour, lined by 
the wonderful boulder bank ; then farther off, the waters of 
Blind Bay, a sheet of blazing light. As background stood the 
first rising of the majestic Alps that occupy the interior of the 
South Island, with Mount Arthur, 8,000 feet high, towering 
through the purple mist 

"This is a delicious climate you have here," I happened to 
say to a Scotch acquaintance ; " have you had many days of 
fine weather lately?" "Ou aye," says he, "it's been real gude 
for the last twa year ! " 

After seven performances we sailed for Auckland. The 
• steamer left at 1 1 p.m., and next morning high land was seen 
on the horizon — Cape Egmont, the principal promontory on 
the west coast of the North Island. At last the base of Mount 
Egmont came in sight, the summit being invisible owing to 
heavy overhanging clouds. Anchor was dropped in the road- 
stead of Taranaki — a prettily situated town sloping up 
from the water's edge. The beach was dark-coloured with 
tons upon tons of iron-sand. The surf rolls heavily on 



I, 



128 Singing Round the World. 

the beach, and there is sometimes so great risk in landing 
that the steamboats have to pass without calling in. We 
thought there was little chance of seeing the great peak, but 
in half-an-hour or so the wind had blown away the obscur- 
ing clouds. The summit towered before us far higher than 
where our eyes had been fixed. It seemed a mirage-mountain, 
so lofty, so removed was it from the detracting influences of 
other heights. Mount Egmont is 8270 feet high, an extinct 
volcano, and the most perfect cone in New Zealand. A long 
black band of cloud cut it in half, making it a kind of double 
mountain — the lower slopes shadowed by the cloud, the 
summit catching the full rays of the sun, and of a light tawny- 
brown colour. It came to a very sharp point, or double-lipped 
crater, containing a blob of snow, some of which had trickled 
out in small drifts at the narrow mouth of the peak. The 
steamer left Taranaki late in the afternoon. The dividing belt 
of cloud vanished, and the full contour of the mountain was 
displayed. The sun set, the strip of the town faded into the 
rising mists, and Mount Egmont, now a shadowy mass, was in 
time swallowed up in the darkness. 

In the morning we near the Manukau Heads, the entrance 
to the western harbour of Auckland, but as the tide signals 
were against us, we dropped anchor outside. During the 
detention here, the time was spent in angling. Two or three 
" schnapper " were brought on board ; then a " dog-fish," and 
afterwards a gurnard, an exquisitely coloured little fish. Lastly, 
a young man dropping his line over the stern, felt a powerful 
bite at the hook, and with a tug sufHcient to have raised a 
small whale, he exposed to view a couple of red herring I 
The bewilderment of the angler provoked general mirth, the 
laughter even extending to a stiff old gentleman who was on 
his way to be cured of rheumatism at the Hot Springs of 
Rotomahana. By this time the tide-signals were in our 
favour. 

Auckland has over 20,000 inhabitants, and occupies the best 
site of any town in New Zealand. Its principal street is one 

"e in length and merges into the long wharf that stretches 



Auckland. 129 

from the shore. The -Waitemata harbour is large and well 
land-locked. The country round about is volcanic, and saved 
from beiag commonplace by its emerald grass, and its strange 
pink soil The streets are paved with lava stone, and the side- 
walks strewn with scoria, or volcanic ash, which crunches 
beneath your feet Forming part of the background to Auck- 
land is Mount Eden, a flat-topped, verdant volcanic hill, its 
slopes ridged with terraces, the remains of Maori earthworks 
thrown up during old tribal wars. Cartloads of Maori bones» 
the remnants of Maori feasts, have been dug out of Mount 
Eden — in reference to which a man gravely assured us that 
these were being secretly converted into flour, and that we in 
turn would unwittingly be committing cannibalism under a 
milder form I 

As usual we formed several Scottish acquaintanceships. A 
man who had done well in the world once grumbled sorely to 
my father : " Ech," said he, " this colony is no fit for a Scotsman 
to live in." "How's that?" my father inquired, "Weel, the 
be' is," said the pessimist, " I canna get my parritch made to 
please me ! " We received a letter from old Mrs. Nicol, mother 
of the late Robert Nicol, the celebrated Perthshire poet She 
is living 100 miles from Auckland, at Alexandra, in the 
Waikato district, surrounded by her great-grandchildren — 
seemingly a hale and hearty old lady, though she must be far 
advanced in years. We spent an evening at the house of an 
old Scotch lady, a widow, who had arrived at Auckland in 1841. 
As she truly said, " What times I've seen I " Her husband and 
she were tempted to emigrate by the representations of the Great 
Manukau Company, reaching Auckland only to find that the 
Company had broken up. The old lady and her husband, who 
were to have ;f 300 worth of land, only received £Zq in script. 
The ship, too, had been eleven months on the voyage, leaving 
in November 1840, and arriving October 1841 ! 

In Auckland we saw crowds of Maories, most of them 
dicssed in European clothes. The women were in many cases 
exceedingly showy. A few had on native shawls and mats,. 
vith their hair stiddog out from the head like a large-sized- 












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'.•aV:. V. ^- ^!:r.';'! :n a roon vrhere there was a k:r.d of lift, made 
out ^f an ol'I fll:^^ The firep'.ace had fo!d:nj doors, Hkeacup- 
]y,:ir*l, an^J, ■..h':n these were opened, you would behold 3roiir 
roa-.l ^ornifi;; u;> on a tray, which v. as no sooner removed than. 
jicrhaji", a cH-,h of vegetables would fly up the chimney to a 



An Open-Air Meeting. 131 

corresponding fireplace on the floor above. On Sunday a gale 
blew from morning till night. During the night I awoke and 
found that through leakage of rain and strength of wind, the 
paper on the ceiling and walls had come down and reduced the 
size of my bedroom to one-half. I was like the man tortured 
by the Inquisition in a gradually-narrowing cell, and felt as if 
doomed to be smothered in my sleep. 

One night an open-air mass meeting was held to protest 
against an impendii^ education-tax — the gathering being 
called tt^ether at the instigation of persons destitute of olive- 
branches, and unfavourable, as they said, to paying for the 
schooling of their neighbours' children. To support this 
trenchant ailment, a noisy mob of two hundred men and 
boys clustered round the wooden framework of the fire-bell 
tower in Queen Street Each speaker in turn stood on a 
crossbeam of the structure, and with one arm round a post, 
hung out over the rabble and poured forth his eloquence. The 
orators were pure Cockneys, and the first we heard on our 
arrival was dropping his H's like rain "upon the place 
beneath," exclaiming : " Look 'ere, now, if you submit to this 
poll-tax you'll submit to anythink I Is the rose, thistle, and 
shamrock to be trailed in the gutter? No, no, it ain't — and I 
ain't agoing to pay no tax. They'll take the limbs from my 
body fust ! What have we come to this country for, eh ? To 
make a livin' — and they won't let us — they want to keep us 
down. What did we leave Hingland for, eh?" "Sit down 
— get out of it !" shrieked the crowd, and the speaker drew 
in his head to make way for his successor. He did not 
appear for some time, at which the crowd grew so im- 
patient that a boy, stationed on a high vantage-post, had to 
call out, by way of explanation — " Don't be in a hurry ; 
he's a short man, and they're hysting him up!" The orator, 
a man of small stature, aided from Ijelow by friendly 
shoulders, scrambled up the trelHs-work of the pillar, and 
breathlessly b^an his address — " Gentlemen, you're not 
intendii^ to pay this, are you ? I'll also, with my friend here, 
be torn limb from limb before I pay it Britons, Britons — 



132 Singing Round tJie World, 

I say Britons — never shall be slaves. No, the flag won't be 
pulled in the dust ; I'll die fust ! No, we ain't agoing to stand 
it I don't go in for io^z-eekal force, but in this case I — I'd — 
I'd resist this poll-tax. If you pay this you'll pay hanythink ! " 
After the brilliant peroration the crowd howled in fearful cho- 
rus, one youth in particular making night hideous with his 
yells — hearing which, some one darted from behind, and, 
pointing with his finger, eagerly ejaculated, " Never mind that 
there boy — he ain't been heddicated ! " This was the acknow- 
ledged hit of the evening, and was received with cheers and 
laughter — the chairman, in an ecstasy of anxiety to do some- 
thing, rapping with his cane and shrilly crying out, " Order, 
gintlemin, order!" Other persons spoke amidst the tumult, 
a certain man urging loudly " a canvas from 'ouse to 'ouse/' 
but after the great joke of the evening no one was heard with 
patience. The crowd soon after formed into procession, and 
advanced towards the Provincial Government Buildings, in- 
tending to awe the members. But when they arrived, lo ! all 
was dark, and no one visible, to the intense disgust of the mob, 
who, after giving their opinion that the people's representatives 
had hidden themselves under the seats or gone frightened be- 
hind the doors, dispersed to their several homes. 



Waikato VaiUy. 



CHAPTER X. 

Em rtutt loi ibe Hot Lakes— Waikato Valley— Rangaiiri Battlefield— A Militaiy 
Ontpotl- A Weai7 Horse-Ride— A Night in %. Maori Houk. 

At Auckland there took place a temporary disintegration of 
our forces. In the first place my mother sailed for the old 
country, to pay a visit to the younger members of the family, 
who had been left at home, and from whom we had now been 
absent some three years. My mother here drops out of the 
New Zealand narrative, but she rejoined us on our return to 
Melbourne. From Auckland my father and sisters went by sea 
to Napier, a sail of over 500 miles round the east coast in a little 
steamer. My cousin, my two brothers, and I travelled overland 
to the same place, passing through the volcanic country of the 
North Island, with its wonderful hot lakes, geysers, and terraces. 
The first section of our trip lay through the Waikato district 
I know of nothing so uncomfortable as rising in the early 
moniing to go upon a coach-ride — to leave a snug, warm bed, 
to see the gas-lamps shining dimly into your room, to hear the 
far-off crowing of a cock, and to creep into the gloomy, cold, 
echoing streets. The four-horse coach toiled up Queen Street, 
and reaching the outskirts of the city sped along a level road. 
Daylight soon began to appear; the hills were suffused with 
red ; while the sky was covered with graduated colours, blocks 
of white-peaked clouds standing on the glowing horizon like 
icebeigs on a pink sea. The ground was littered with lava 
stones like petrified sponges. There was no grass to be seen ; 
nothing but brown and dirty-green fern-covered country. In 
this part of New Zealand there is no grass ; bushes and ferns 
have full occupation of the soil. The landscape would be com- 
mon in the extreme, when a lofty grass-tree would step in with 
its graceful outline against the sky, as if saying, " There ! " and 
tile whole country would be transformed at once into a foreign- 
looking scene. 



134 Singing Round tlie World, 

At Drury we had breakfast and a change of driver, the reins 
being now handled by a jolly, red-faced Nova Scotian. At 
Point Russel, or Mercer, we first beheld the Waikato, a noble- 
looking river, familiar as a household word by its association 
with the Maori wars. Shortly afterwards, while going up a 
steep muddy hill, there was a sudden stoppage, a hard kick, a 
loud crack, and away went the three leaders, dragging the 
reins out of the driver's hands. " After them, head them ! " 
cried he to the passengers, who had all scrambled out at the 
first sound of danger, and off we plunged along the hill-side, 
up to the shoulders in damp, tangled fern — every now and 
then one of us tripping up and melting out of sight, like a 
snowflake amongst the billowy expanse of bracken. Latterly 
the horses were caught in a gully. The harness was repaired 
after considerable delay, and about an hour afterwards we 
approached Rangariri, the scene of one of the fiercest conflicts 
in the New Zealand war. We passed the rifle-pits and trenches 
of the Maories, but one is not impressed with the idea of a 
battle-field. On seeing the small earthen grass-grown fortifi- 
cations, we thought the fight must have been utterly child's- 
play. But now there is a road where there was then no road, 
no bush where there was bush, so that it is difficult to realise 
the full details. The Maories had possession of two pahs, from 
which they were not dislodged till two hundred men fell, both 
sides inclusive. The natives were shelled and fired at from 
the gunboats on the river, and were assailed also from a strong 
redoubt, into the remains of which earthwork we climbed to 
eat our lunch. 

During the afternoon we passed a group of armed navvies — 
men who are supposed to join themselves to the constabulary 
in case of an outbreak, and who were engaged making the 
Waikato railway, which will do as much to settle the native 
difficulties as troops of soldiers. There was also to be seen an 
encampment of the native contingent — Maories who are en- 
rolled as militia at six shillings a day, and who look smart in 
their foraging caps and steel-buttoned jackets. This employ- 
ment of the natives is a sop to the great Maori Cerberus. 



An Outpost of Civilisation. 135 

Flour and blankets are also liberally distributed. The Govern- 
ment, as the saying is, " would rather feed the Maories than 
fight them." Night set in, and we rumbled alongside the 
Waikato. In front, the manuka bushes, like grey wraiths lit 
up by the strong lamps of the coach, glided past into the gloom. 
With a terrible amount of jolting and splashing we reached 
Ngaruawahia, which word is the shibboleth of all who aspire to 
be Maori scholars. 

Next morning, after the usual bush-breakfast of sharp-edged 
cofTee, mealy bread, and thick steak underlying a deposit of 
onions, we drove to Cambridge, 100 miles south-east of Auck- 
land, and the furthest outpost of civilisation in the Waikato 
Valley. Two hotels, several new stores, and a few houses 
compose the township. A body of constabulary, a semi-miiitary 
force, is here. Their redoubt, visible on the top of a hill ten 
miles distant, possessed a good deal of interest, standing as it 
does on the confines of the King country, the region of the dis- 
affected Maories. The little village was lively with troopers, 
constabulary, settlers, and tattooed Maories. At dinner I sat 
opposite an old grisly native, who had weighty greenstone 
pendants dragging down the lobes of his ears, while a drunken 
fellow, feebly dropping his hands each side his chair, leaned his 
head on my left shoulder. On the other side of the table were 
two surveyors, the local doctor, and an Irish guide to the Hot 
Lakes, who spoke the Maori tongue with a rich brogue. We 
told him our route, and asked if he knew our first stage, Te 
Whetu. "Tay Fettoo!" he exclaimed — "troth an' I do know 
that place, for during the war I was captured there as a spy by 
the Moreys, and the brown daymons tied me to a tree to burn 
me ; but the flax broke that they fastened me with, so I got 
away, gintlemm, an' that's how I rimimbcr Tay Fettoo !" We 
thought this an excellent item for Mayne Reid, and quite equal 
to Letts's Diary as a means of recollection ! 

At night, in the hotel parlour, cards were played under the 
supervision of an inebriated old Maori, who seemed expert at 
euchre. At the other end of the room a young gentleman 
played on the piano the " Shadow Dance " from Dinorah, 



136 Singing Round the World. 

Then a major, with a deep bass voice, sang " Til always think 
of thee !" at which the Maories cried " Kapai " (good), 
additional applause being kept up by a lot of fellows over 
tumblers of punch. They were all making merry when a 
^^ swell " with a comically paralytic eye-glass twitch in his left 
cheek, ejaculated : " Doocit you know, give us, you at the 
piano — ah — a song with chorus, perhaps — say the Miserere 
from Trovatore, and Til join in!" "Yes!" remarked a toper, 
raising his head sleepily off the table, " give us the Miseries ! 
darn it, but I like a chorus ! give us something with a chorus l** 
The pianist immediately broke forth into a comic song, which 
was refrained loudly by everybody, the Maories swinging their 
arms quite enthusiastically over it During the height of this, 
the cook, a red-whiskered Highlander, put his head into the 
room and beckoned us out to a large armful of sandwiches, to 
see if these would be sufficient for our journey on the morrow. 
We had previously made arrangements with a Captain Owen 
to guide us to the Hot Lakes, and have the horses ready to 
start early in the morning. 

Behold us, at nine o'clock in the morning, leaving Cam- 
bridge, in the most laughable of processions. First, the guide. 
Captain Owen, cantering ahead and dragging after him the 
grey pack-horse, which wobbled along under its load of tent- 
canvas, rugs, provisions, bags of oats, and tin-cans, with all the 
gait and appearance of a dromedary. Then we four adven- 
turers in Indian file, each in his roughest clothes, mounted 
on the shaggiest of small " scrubbers," with a pannikin and a 
coil of rope dangling at his saddle-bow. Away we went 
into the wildness of the unsettled country. No vehicle of 
any kind had ever disturbed the primitiveness of natyre with a 
wheel-mark. What cared we that the scenery was a dull 
extent of grassy undulations ! The glassy blue sky shone 
overhead, and our hearts were elated with the excitement and 
novelty of the situation. On we went, now startling occasional 
pheasants, now breaking the silence with a song, to the 
accompaniment of rattling cans and pannikins. Presently we 
were accosted by a hospitable Maori, who urgently invited us 



Sliding Down a Precipice. 137 

to rest at his hut, and who seemed disappointed when we had 
to refuse, owing to the length of our journey. Shortly after 
there overtook us two other Maories on horseback — one of 
them crouching in the saddle, with hollow eyes and hectic 
flush — very ill, as he told our guide, and on the way to his 
native village to die. The captain said that Maories have not 
much pluck when in bad health, and soon surrender themselves 
to an ailment 

There was now a change to wild, broken country. A grand 
limestone gorge lay beneath us, the_precipitous side of which 
had to be descended by dragging our horses after us. We 
scrambled down, each followed by rattling stones dislodged by 
his horse's hoofs, and every now and then literally embraced 
from behind by the struggling animal's fore-legs. To see the 
pack-horse sliding down alone, sitting on its hunkers, with its 
front hoofs planted between its outspread hind-legs, its neck 
stretching out, the load of bundles swaying and jerking the 
poor animal from side to side of the descent, might have drawn 
laughter from a stone. We reached the bottom of an immense 
cleft, an amphitheatre of white cliffs circling round us, and our 
eyes overpowered by the glare of the reflected sunlight on the 
heights above. Winding for some distance along this wall- 
enclosed, high-ridged basin, we climbed out of it by another 
abrupt path. The country had at one time been a clear 
plateau, but by some convulsion of nature had been rent into 
long fissures. 

About half-past one, after thirty miles, we heard the pleasant 
music of a creek, and it was unanimously agreed to camp. We 
poured out the oats into our greatcoats, which we had spread 
as a table-cloth for our hungry chargers. Captain Owen tore 
- up a few handfuls of dry fern, and soon had a good fire burning, 
Uoloading the pack-horse we found that the sugar had mi,\ed 
itself with the tea, and this put us in a great quandary till we 
solved the difficulty, or rather dissolved it, by putting the un- 
luck>- mixture in one mass into the can ! Betimes we reluc- 
tantly resumed the journey. Every muscle in our bodies was 
stiff, and the hard jog-trot of our jaded horses was far from a 



138 Singing Round the World. 

joke. But twenty miles more had to be overcome. The 
Waikato, now a small stream, flowed on our right, every mile 
or so a little foaming fall. The landscape had quite a military 
look, what with the broken embattled heights of the table-land, 
with lower down a mound here, a parapet there, and the river 
running like a moat at the base of the high natural ramparts. 
No sign of man or beast, not even the flight of a bird across 
the blue sky, broke the weary solitudes. As the sun set, 
lengthening out our shadows up the rising hill-slopes before us, 
and casting the quaint shadows of peaks, crags, and fragments 
of rock, we thought ourselves on as lonely a part of the earth's 
surface as could well be conceived. 

Fields of dirty grey manuka scrub, averaging five feet in 
height, stretched before us. As the horses rushed through this, 
our feet caught in the tough branches of the manuka, and our 
knees were violently wrenched. When night set in we laid the 
bridle on the horses' necks, letting the animals scent out the 
track as best they could. The darkness was so intense that on 
the lower ground you could not see the hand before your face. 
We began to despair of getting shelter that night The poor 
horses tore along now without flogging, but their very liveliness 
seemed to have a touch of desperation about it At times the 
party straggled out into a long line, so at intervals a halt was 
made till the whole of us had closed up. The misty outlines 
of our guide's white mackintosh would swell up before us like 
the figure of a magic-lantern, and we would know the captain 
had luckily paused on the edge of some dangerous declivity. 
Suddenly, as if to signalise our arrival at Maori-Land, there 
shot across the sky a brilliant meteor — a dullish red streak, 
that budded out into a clear blue flame. Weary and worn we 
arrived at the little hamlet of " Te Whetu," which name in 
English means " A Star." 

Before us was a large wooden building with an immense 
expanse of roof, and a fenced-in porch. We saw afterwards 
that it had a very picturesque exterior — a broad front, with a 
verandah overhung with heavy eaves, which latter sloped down 
to within three feet of the ground, and were elaborately carved 



A Maori Residence. 139 

with all manner of oraament — while, before the door, at a short ' 
distance, rose a long slanting pole surmounted by a nob like a 
flag-stafil The building was formerly a runanga, or meeting- 
house of the Hau-Hau rebels, but since the war it had been 
occupied by chance parties of Maories. A gleam of firelight 
came through the chinks of the door. Captain Owen, dis- 
mounting, commenced to parley with those inside, shouting 
" Pakeha 1 " (white man or stranger), and a harsh female voice 
replied, "Tena koe!" or "Salutations to you." Then after 
long silence, undisturbed save by the moaning of the wind 
amongst the trees, the door, a heavy sliding panel of wood, 
was pushed to one side, and an interior disclosed, no whit less 
striking than that which greeted the eyes of Nicol Jarvie at 
the Clachan of Aberfoyle. 

We stepped over the low fence A fire was burning on the 
earthen floor, and dimly lighting the farther recesses of the 
spacious building, the roof of which was supported by a stout 
centre-pole. A middle-aged Maori woman was renewing the 
fira In a far comer, amid a smoky twilight, crouched a 
tattered, wrinkled old woman, over one hundred years of iigc, 
as we were ungallantly told. She was huddled up like a 
bundle of rags, and muttered incoherently to herself. Two 
little boys, each clad in a blanket, went out and saw to the 
horses. They came back with chattering teeth, and were 
highly delighted with the present of some peppermint lozenges. 
A visitor now looked in to see us — a cheery-faced Maori 
woman, the mother of the two boys. These three were the 
only residents of the adjoining hamlet, which consisted of half- 
a-dozen rickety huts. The woman came in with a lai^e tin 
di^ of swimming potatoes, and after the manner of neighbour 
women, proceeded to help her friend in her stress of household 
work—- a " touch of nature " that was very refreshing, and made 
us almost forget we were in presence of two uncivilised matrons 
of New Zealand. We had the potatoes to our tea. During 
our rough-and-ready meal the two women sat tittering, nudging, 
and comparing notes on the pakehas, to the great amusement 
of our guide, who burst into a hearty laugh, in which he was 



V •' 



innec zjy ins rwi ¥'j]ng?r gnr. ttit zktts. It 

:- -persrit. thcT nf Jnir- snber-iazcf 3 .iL - Ti g laea dimly 



coTDcr, who 



idght, anii OCT bi^esi rcreizbsd bersaea ccn cc coc side of tbe 
£rc Vr* f>ci up c-firrsrs i-n rK ocbc aici. h-Ersg on Ac thin 
TUiY TTv <Li T Tir ^. Sj-Ti C rs5^^~ .'UT ^csl.^ Dcrvc£s rr>c "J^^^ ob out 
s&diLes. Thyugz the brnrtl Trti filed -ci:^ piirsgc::! sooke^and 
the c^ld nife talked iDzerSs^tlv. -sre socc: fell asjcea \Vc awoke 
sereral tinges ciniii^ the nizht. ii coe tiz>e fnd'n=: the fire al- 



dcmn a:ri'>:ig5t the ashes. Kririr-g cc the feeJxe cabers — the 
fntensfttent glcra- lightf'^ up herhaish feature? like a red mask 
agair.'it the cark::es5, hz^t casr>.g her shadow Dver the dim high 

About four :n the morr-in^ we awoke, tiartiallv refreshed, our 
heads achfrg from our hard pillowsL The a^ed wonian was 
bt;l! in the comer, rakinj up long-burled associatioriS. while our 
hobtebs was bur/ preparing another meal cf potatoes, assisted 
b>' the other woman and the boys, who had again paid us a 
visit While we were at breakfast, one of the women engaged 
herself in making a flax-mat, as ci\'ilised ladies spend the pas- 
sing hour in embroider)- — the green flax being cut and its fibre 
.scraped with a half-shell, and the strips dexterously plaited. 
Then we saddled up for our next stage of thirt>--five miles. \Vc 
Xs^iV farcu'ell of the two women who had been so kind to us — 
aly> of the grim old woman in the comer, who took no notice 
<}{ us whate\'cr, but mumbled more historical remarks — also of 
the two boys, who smiled and waved their hands as we rode oflC 

The morning was fresh, the sk>' still an unflecked blue. After 
leaving the big picturesque rununga, round which a dozen or 
.y-i of black hogs were feeding, there was very little life to be 
seen — nothing but nature in the raw. One could imagine him- 
self in some other planet, so strange was the landscape, tor 



The Horo Horo Gorge. 141 

instance, after descending a long rocky staircase, so narrow 
that each had to dismount to allow his horse room, the rider's 
1^3 being just that too much for the width of the passage, we 
landed in a plain encompassed by eccentric-looking hills — 
— some square-topped, some with two or three peaks, some 
cone-shaped — while from the centre of the level rose, without 
any gradual slope, a perfect pyramid of a hill, its sides as regu- 
lar as if they had been built of masonry and then turfed over. 
The contrast between this triangular hill and the mathemati- 
cally-«xact square ridges was very queer. We called the place 
" Euclid Valley," As usual, one had to get back to the table- 
land by a very steep climb. An hour later we descended into 
the Horo Horo Gorge — a wild valley, mounted by reddish 
walls or battlements ; and in the back-ground the wonderful 
Horo Horo, a shaggy, hirsute table-mountain clothed with tim- 
ber. We camped under the shadow of its wooded heights, and 
were presently joined by a Maori, who took lunch with us at 
the side of the creek. Resuming our journey, the Maori showed 
his horsemanship by galloping, and at the same time skilfully 
plaiting a flax thong for his whip — the feat being all the more 
wonderful as his horse was bare>backcd. Our pack horse anon 
broke loose and made a bolt over the country, pursued by the 
guide, who had a steeple-chase of some miles before he brought 
the beast back. In the dusk of evening we neared Ohinemutu 
— saw Lake Rotorua, on which the village is situated, reflecting 
the last rays of daylight, and the country round dotted with 
little balloons of steam. Then, after a ride in the darkness 
through dense manuka scrub, with sulphurous smells and 
bubbling sounds of boiling mud-holes that lurked on either 
hand, we came to a slight rise, and saw dimly beneath us the 
huts of Ohinemutu. 



142 Singing Roujtd tlie World. 



CHAPTER XL 

The Volcanic Country— Bathing in a Hot Lake— A Maori Pah— The Gieftt 

Geyser of Whaka-rewa-rewa. 

Ohinemuta stands on the line of the volcanic action which 
extends 1 50 miles in a north-easterly direction from Tongfariro, 
the burning mountain in the centre of the island, to the White 
Island, a restless crater of pure sulphur, lying a few miles off 
the sea-coast The country in and about the village is broken 
up by steaming holes, hot springs, and geysers, and the frail 
ground imperfectly covers up a seething volcanic tumult, which 
stretches far under Lake Rotorua, and raises the temperature 
of the water at many places to boiling-point Ohinemutu is 
situated on the south-western shore of this lake, which is a 
circular sheet of water, with an island rising 400 feet in the 
centre of it The island of Mokoia is the scene of a charming 
Maori legend, a variation on " the old, old story " of Hero and 
Leander. The heroine Hinemoa was of great beauty, and the 
ancestress of the present inhabitants of the island and mainland. 
As her name signifies, she was ** a girl like the Moa," so the 
great bird must have been considered graceful in its day. 
Though a chiefs daughter residing on the mainland, she fell in 
love with Tutanekai, an obscure individual living on the island- 
The noble family, whose blue blood boiled with indignation, 
opposed her marriage with the common person residing on the 
island. So Hinemoa, under shelter of darkness, in answer to 
the midnight solo of her lover on a flute made out of a human 
leg-bone, strung gourds round her waist and swam across to 
the little isle. Here the " lady of the lake " was received with 
open arms, and with her plebeian husband lived happily ever 
afterwards. 

Hence this village has been called Ohinemutu, or " the girl 
that went over." It is at present the chief native settlement 



The Maori in his Native State. 143 

accessible to the traveller, and here may be seen the Maori in 
as near as possible an approach to his native state, which in an 
age when the tendency of everything savage and romantic is to 
become rapidly civilized and commonplace, is no small matter 
of interest The white man has only put his face in as yet to 
the extent of a store and two small wooden hotels ; and it was 
in front of one of these latter that we drew up on the night we 
arrived at the settlement 

Close by, we could see the dark line of the village huts, and 
a little farther off, the surface of Rotorua reflecting the brilliant 
heavens. Distant laughter, Maori talk, and far-off sounds of 
splashing came from the lake, where the natives were revelling 
in a warm bath. On dismounting, Captain Owen inquired for 
a young native to take charge of the horses — one, he said, with 
some influence amongst the tribe, as there was a chestnut 
horse which he feared might be stolen. Then the hotel-man 
carefully weighed out a bag of oats, charging us sixteen 
shillings a bushel, or about ten shillings more than we paid 
anywhere else. This, as much as the strange surroundings, 
impressed us with the fact that we were far from civilization. 
The hotel was small and homely, and the parlour had a rough 
table laid out for tea, and round it was gathered a goodly 
company of surveyors and men working upon the roads. 
After partaking of tea and spiced beef, we felt our hunger 
appeased. But our two days* horse-riding had left us very 
fatigued ; so we determined to have a warm bath that very 
night We undriessed, arrayed ourselves with blankets round 
our waists after the manner of kilts, and were ready for a 
plunge at any moment 

The hotel-man lit a lantern and went carefully in front of us 
towards the village, a few yards distant We walked with 
wary steps on the narrow path, past boiling springs and active 
mudholes, holding our noses to exclude the sulphur fumes, till 
we reached a square bath dug out of the ground, and fed by a 
small gutter communicating with a hot spring. We jumped 
simultaneously into this open-air bath — the pool, with its 
laughing and splashing occupants, being illuminated -by the 



V.m 



144 Singing Round tlu World. 

lantern, to the great delight of the onlooking Maories, who 
were fast becoming numerous. We came out new men^ 
with none of the chill experienced after an ordinary hot 
bath. 

Next morning was clear and frosty. The lake glittered in 
the sun, while in the foreground stood the settlement, almost 
shrouded in immense clouds of steam, and the prosaic thatched 
roofs of its dingy brown huts unfolding poetically through the 
wreathing vapour. The coldness of the morning inviting us to 
a second bath, we dressed ourselves in the approved costume^ 
though thinking we would be the laughed-at of all observers, 
robed as we were in striped bed-blankets. But we excited no 
mirth, save when one of our number, who had nervously ad- 
justed his blanket in a loose fashion, cut an absurd figure by 
the garment at odd moments suddenly drooping at one side, 
after the manner of classic sculpture. We necessarily went 
down to the lake at a slow pace. Here a mud-hole was gutter- 
ing close to our feet ; there a hot stream overflowing the path ; 
here, again, mud painfully heaving, and with difficulty bursting 
into a bubble ; here a group of small craters were snoring away, 
like custards bubbling hot from the oven, with dry mud like 
pie-crust encircling them. Continual sullen muttcrings met our 
ears, with frequent harsh outburts that, combined with the odour 
of sulphur, gave one the idea of subterranean oaths, as com- 
pared with the purer utterances of sylvan streams. Now and 
then, as we paused, the heat penetrated our boots, and we had 
to shift our position, so thin was the pathway. At some places, 
if you simply poke with a stick into the ground, steam will come 
out of the hole. For example, the piles for an addition to the 
hotel we stayed at were driven into the earth until they went 
through! To imagine or describe boih'ng mud is about as 
difficult as to detail an emotion ; to see it is to see something 
that will assuredly be remembered. 

When we got down to the lake its banks were steaming with 
hot springs, which were sparkling and bursting out, and pouring 
their scalding rills into the greater body of water. Bathing was 
only possible at certain parts, and a favourite resort seemed to 



Bathing in a Hot Lake. 145 

be a little inlet where the temperature was somewhat bearable. 
One or two Maories were plunging about when we arrived, 
while on the sloping bank sat a long semi-circle of natives, male 
and female — an interesting crowd, which increased every mo- 
ment, greatly to our dismay. We were for relinquishing the 
bath altogether, but the guide laughed at our scruples, and it 
was only with great ingenuity and with most inelegant atti- 
tudes that we glided out of our blankets into the lake. The 
water was enjoyably warm, save when our toes got embedded 
in the hot ooze at the bottom, or when hot currents would glide 
out from the shore The lake had an irregular bottom, with 
submei^ed rocks here and there, on which you could stand when 
tired of swimming. 

The news soon spread that a party of pakehas were bathing, 
and the youth of the village swelled the already considerable 
assembly. A long string of Maori boys, running over a raised 
point of land above our heads, plunged one after the other, 
with shout and shriek, into the lake — some flying head fore- 
most, some shooting feet first into mid-air, some springing off 
with a high somersault — all flinging themselves into the 
steaming lake with jollity, dash, and precision ; and one squat 
little four-year-old amusing us greatly by the comically manly 
way in which he bundled himself into the water. For variety, 
they played at hide-and-seek, the pursued reappearing in un- 
expected places, the disappointment of the pursuer being hailed 
with loud laughter from the shore. In one comer of the inlet 
a young Maori girl, who had been sent out to " mind the baby," 
sat in the water with only her head and shoulders visible, and 
the face of her little chai^ ; and, if I am not mistaken, any 
display of noisy temper on the part of the infant was quelled 
by a sudden immersion of its head I All this time a heavy 
curtain of steam moved over the water, and we saw only a very 
few yards out from the shore, though occasionally the wind 
would stir the vapour, and through a rapidly shifting vista we 
would behold further parties of Maories disporting in the lake. 
The full enjoyment of this open-air bath, in such an expanse 
of warm water, with its strange surroundings of picturesquely- 



146 Singing Round the World. 

<:lad Maories, quaint huts, and steam-dotted scenery, is almost 
indescribable. To have the opportunity of being so utterly 
removed from the world, to have an entire freshness of 
■experience, was worth all the toilsome journey. 

The table at the hotel, though it could not be expected to be 
first-class, was very liberally supplied — steak, chops, and 
preserved meat in lumps figuring at every meal. There was 
never any milk or eggs ; but then we had failed to get these in 
some of the most rural parts of the colonies. The only white 
woman in Ohinemutu was the wife of the hotel cook, and no 
doubt her presence partially toned down the rudeness in- 
separable from domestic matters performed by men. Thou^ 
the weather was cold, yet the only fire was in the kitchen, for 
■culinary purposes. The habit of the folks on feeling chilly was 
to bathe ! During the forenoon several invalids came over by 
canoe from a place on the other side of the lake, where they 
usually sit for hours under a hot waterfall, freeing themselves 
from rheumatism and other ailments. The hotel people gfrew 
eloquent over the marvellous cures effected. " This man here 
was regular tied in a knot with rheumatics, and now, in a few 
weeks, he's bathed them all out of him. And look at 
Thomson ! — that feller was awfully down with nervous fever 
and no appetite, and now he's like to swallow up the 'ole 'otel ! 
And that man over there, that couldn't move with pains in his 
right leg when he came first, is hard at work getting up a foot- 
ball club. Old Parr is nothing to the bilin* waterfall ! " 

After breakfast we went through the pah, or enclosed section 
of the settlement The palisade is constructed of wooden rods, 
now falling into decay ; the corner-poles, with their hideous 
carved heads, toppling over, and the whole fence looking as if 
blown down by a strong wind. No care seems to be expended 
on it The rising generation of Maories are lazy, and have lost 
to a great extent the traditions of their forefathers. They do 
not build fine runangas now, and the young girls have no 
deftness in mat- weaving. We saw the runanga here — a 
fine building, with a most elaborately-carved front and 
the usual large porch, in which sat a group of the grey- 



Maori Graves. 147 

bearded elders of the tribe, dressed m those flaring and 
striped shawls and blankets which make any gathering of 
Maories look gay. Under the eyes of this august assembly, 
just four or five feet from the porch, was an artificial bath, and 
in it reclined a white man, nothing of whom was seen but his 
head resting on the edge, and his hand upholding a yellow- 
covered novel— certainly the height of luxury. These tanks, 
dug in the earth, are common throughout the settlement, and 
are much used by the natives. Then, again, over the hot 
springs the Maories place large stone slabs, on which they squat 
in the shades of evening, with their blankets wrapped round 
them, enjoying the warmth. Women were sunning themselves 
at the doors of their huts, while some were rolling pumpkins 
to the bottom of a boiling pool, and some were cooking fish 
and potatoes in flax " kits " or bags, which they let down by a 
string into the water. I do not recollect seeing a fire the whole 
time we were in the native quarter. The boiling springs warm 
the Maories and cook their food. It is said, however, that the sul- 
phur fumes cause their teeth to decay. At one part of the pah 
was a large heap of pipi shells, the accumulation of long-con- 
tinued feasting. Another mound of shells showed the resting- 
place of the hotel groom, who had fallen into scalding-hot mud 
just a day or two before, and had perished in great agony. The 
grave of the wretched man was dug in the centre of the pah, 
and during the last ceremony the boiling water burst in and 
gushed over his cofllin. Maori graves were also to be seen, all 
marked with carved posts and flat boards, with ornamental de- 
^;ns, some of which the European mind might regard as inde- 
cent 

Threading the mud-holes, and wondering how so many 
children could romp unscathed on such a perilous playground, 
we met several little Maori boys with school-books in their 
hands. The school was a rude shed, and presided over by a 
Maori with some knowledge of English, who was imparting 
instruction in arithmetic, the children swaying their bodies and 
gabbling over the multiplication-table In front of a whari an 
old man sat cross-legged, a gun in his lap, a file in one hand, 



148 Singing Round tlie World, 

and in the other a nipple several times too large for the piece, 
which he held up for our inspection. The guide, in his usual 
quiet way, informed the veteran sportsman that a shot from 
the gun with that nipple would be more fatal at the butt-end 
that at the muzzle, hearing which the old man's jaw fell, and 
we left him quite crestfallen. 

Our stroll ended at the general store, kept by an Edinburgh 
man, whom we saw soaping the leg of a horse which had 
stumbled into a mud-hole. The limb, which was fearfully 
swollen and raw, was a most unpleasant reminder of one's own 
danger. This store was an old Maori house, and the shop-sig^n 
appeared out of keeping with the overhanging thatched eaves. 
On one side of the premises were woollen goods and drapery, 
and on the other shelves of books. The shop was divided into 
front and back by a huge wooden figure, erected by the former 
Maori tenants, its outstretched legs forming a doorway. A 
clock had lately been let into the paunch of this Colossus, 
giving it a ludicrous appearance. The storekeeper was in fear 
that this would be resented by the Maories, who hold the 
stomach to be a sacred part, and very sensibly regard it as the 
seat of joy and anger. A week previously there had been 
severe shocks of earthquake, and several new hot springs had 
made their appearance, one stream rushing up alongside his 
store, to the astonishment of the proprietor. By careful 
calculation he finds that the next hot spring will break out in 
his bedroom, which he thinks will be a great comfort in the 
winter evenings ! Our friend showed us a deep basin fed by a 
noisy spring, that burst fiercely from under a weighty stone 
slab. We had hardly left all this commotion when we came 
to another scene of disturbance — an open space of ground, 
where stood a Maori, his face convulsed with rage, tearing 
down a palisade which divided some disputed property — the 
man passionately plucking up rod after rod and flinging them 
into a large fire which blazed behind him. It was certainly a 
most summary case of litigation. 

Next day we visited the hot springs of Whaka-rewa-rewa, 
three miles from the village. They take their rise in the midst 



Hot Springs of Wltaka-revsa-rewa, 149 

of a most unholy, unhealthy-looking spot The ground for 
several acres seemed to have been violently flayed, and scorched 
by fierce fire of all vegetable life. Not a green leaf showed 
amongst the steaming earth and hot rocks. It seemed a weird, 
enchanted ground, the scene of wild revel and diablerie. In the 
centre, like a witch's cauldron, and reached by rough, natural 
steps, stood the elevated basin of a spring brimful of hot water, 
the surface tremulous from latent heat There were also deep 
holes, where you could hear far down a tumult of boiling mud. 
The ground was cracking with subterranean heat, and sounded 
portentously hollow, as if one were treading over vaults. A 
strong smell of sulphur and of mineral decomposition pervaded 
the spot Immense boulders lay crusted with white scaly 
Iprowth, some hardly bearable to the touch. In these huge 
blocks were small bore-holes, their mouths flecked yellow by the 
sulphur fumes, that blew out in frequent puffs of steam. Such 
a display of cooked chemicals ! Great lumps of sulphur 
strewed the ground, and gave the queerest possible look to the 
scene: I picked up a lai^e piece, so temptingly br^ht, yellow, 
and floury, but instantly discovered it was red-hot I We 
chipped the sulphur blocks with the butt-ends of our whips, 
during which one with a silver head rapidly changed to the hue 
of brass. 

The chief object of wonder, however, was the great geyser. 
This splendid natural fountain was rising to its full height, 
swathed in a shroud of steam, pumping its poplar-shaped 
columns sixty feet into the air. It shot them up irregularly, 
something like thirty, forty, ten, fifty, and twenty feet ; and 
sixty feet flying up eveiy now and then as a bold, unmistakable 
climax — the hot spray glittering in the sun amidst the en- 
wreathing clouds of steam, which the wind blew off in time to 
show the next high jet burst violently out of the earth. Fre- 
quently tourists fail to see this geyser in action, as they come 
at the wrong season, or when the fountain is indulging in well- 
earned repose. Here, on a hap-hazard visit, were we favoured 
with this grand exhibition of volcanic force. We stood for a 
long time enchiUned to the spot, a few yards from the fountain. 



ISO Singing Round the World, 

on its windward side, to avoid the showers of hot spray, listening 
to the plashing of the water and the heavy, impelling thuds of 
the geyser, and watching its varying heights with the greatest 
interest This irregularity was one of its chief charms. The 
play of an artificial fountain is regular, beautiful, and tame, 
while this was uncertain, wild, and wonderful. 

With the vandalism which is more or less inherent in human 
nature, we amused ourselves by throwing large stones into the 
geyser, a practice indulged in by travellers in Iceland, the gey- 
sers of which are said to be inferior to those of New Zealand. 
After twenty or thirty seconds, during which one could ima- 
gine the stone dashing and swirling in the cauldron, the geyser, 
with a loud, spluttering snort, hurled the fragment of rock high 
into the air, amid the agitated circlings of the steam. This was 
exciting sport, and repeated several times. But lo ! a startling 
interruption. A loud bass solo came rumbling out of a yawn- 
ing cavity, which had been quite dry and inactive when we 
took up position in front of it Steam began to curl about us, 
and, with exclamations of alarm, we rushed off, preceded by 
our guide, and never stopped till we were some distance from 
the newly-awakened spring. We had been standing with our 
heels almost into the mouth of an intermittent geyser ! Mean- 
while the boiling liquid was violently deluging the place where 
we had been standing. It was a thrilling conclusion to our ex- 
periences at Whaka-rewa-rewa ; and after a last look at this 
unearthly, sulphur-strewn locality, and a lingering farewell 
glance at the noble geyser, which would soon be playing un- 
seen by eye of man, we retraced our steps through the scrub to 
Ohinemutu. 



Pierr^s "Matson de Repos." 



CHAPTER Xri. 

Pkne's " Maison de Repos " — Rotomahaiui^Tlie White Tenace — The Hot 
Springs— The Pink Terrace— A Dangerous Horse Ride, 

Itt the afternoon we left for Wairoa, whence canoes were to 
take us to Rotomahana. At first the road lay alongside 
3i.otorua, its shores strewn with yellow blocks of sulphur, that 
loaded the air with heavy fumes, while the water was lukewarm 
and unpalatable, as shown by the unsuccessful attempts of our 
liacks to get a drink. A ride through luxuriant bush brought 
us to Tiki Tapu, the sacred lake, out of which the natives will 
neither fish nor drink — a glassy expanse of water. Here were 
one or two Maori huts, out of which a white man came to greet 
USL " Ah ! Pierre," cried our captain, " we live to-night at your 
Afaison de Repos, so hurry up and lead the way !" Could this 
possibly be our ideal Pierre, the urbane Frenchman whose 
advertisement of accommodation and comfort at " Une Maison 
de Repof had appeared in the Auckland papers ? He would 
have made the soberest person laugh. Trudging before us, 
Pierre looked every inch a Communist, in his short old coat, 
battered slouched hat, and baggy blue trousers which nether- 
ward revealed secret raiment. He walked barefooted, had a 
canvas bag slung over his back, and carried a double barrelled 
gun over his shoulder. Talking with a slight French accent, 
Pierre told us he had been out unsuccessfully " trying to get 
some pc^eon." 

How astonished, we were, too, at seeing his " Maison " a hut 
made of raupo reed. The Frenchman lit a fire in the centre of 
its earthen floor, and- filled the room with smoke. A couple of 
doors gave ingress to two miniature bedrooms, each occupied 
by a hard pallet. In a back place, Pierre cooked our tea, sur- 
rouoded by numbers of cats and dogs. After long frying^ 
■tvenl dishes were brought in, but they were all " peeg," as 






=aJL 



c -iirt inc 



»>■■ ■ 









jisn if aZ the viands. 

:::c 2zd balm, or 

« %£ih a flavour 

t his p!ate what 






a leetle 



^-—^u 



* - ' 



I::»i:r z-uAiti v.ir L r.:^"-~ -'f^^ei binfle. 



bowie knife. 
cr be bad got in 



_L . 



- "--—.- -L.* «. 



r-. Itiiriis ti r^ir-- ^^ireir^ = rie ica:. and tbat each 

:c fve illJrc? t: =:ii f:r ihe rir-ie. ihe sr? would amount 
£z^ :fi- nir.=r * -i-rc* ^^-^ --' '^"'"- -^ thr*? miles of water- 
^7\t tyrzTt^i^-i ^crsilves is -cc being verj* well 

s. -C'::. I bare rh- 



-.»— r_. . 






l=f' 



•■* -^i 






c'-C.-: lied ::•: . 






regions, 
I cccli Idll them, and 
'stsj? S«r>-er and Robes* 
j.:rrre :- :r.e. - T- ;y ire :he r".ike cf my life," con- 
t:r.-jed he ; * zrl.'c ?h:«:5 ihe ether iiv I h:rie\-:pped a Maori 
•A'^mar. thit I ca-j-h: setrr^ fire :? my he use. De>- are 
cerr.cr.s, ever>- cr.e :f therr.. Or.ce. curing de war, a rascal 
7»raor: he c'me ani he ".rck :r. ihrcujh the hir.ge of my door — 
zo I stea.! up quiet, put dis here ^n to his nos5, and (dra^inng 
h:-, h^r.d rapidly acrcis his face' I bicwed h:m all cat ! Oh ! it 
v»'o^5 rare tines ; I did like to see dem battlefields — all de 
black fe'/.os 'yi-g • Oh I de hacked faces, de cracked skulls, 
dc red faces, dc slashed boties ! Oh I I could haf danced with 
de-light." "Surely." I said, **your Maori friends here cannot 
be bad neighbours?'' *' I tell you wot it eez, now," said 
Pierre — " A^y are the biggest rokes in de countrj- — dey want 
;ijl the trade of this place, so they are going to turn me aowt, 
dc yclIo-A' Indians ! Dey shall lose a peeg presently. Oh, dc 
f(>-.vh I haf stole from de blackguards ! I put down oats on my 
floor— one hen come in, I wreeng his neck — another com^ I 



Sleeping under Difficulties. 153 

do de same — another, shoost dc same — another and another 
and another, till I had two dossen of dem under de floor of my 
hut — and I liffed on dem for days — de blackguards, de pagans, 
de cut-throats ! — what, is dat you again ?" and away he rushed 
with a broom after a dog that was licking a leg of pork in his 
back room ; "one would think he was starfed — I gave him a 
ham-bone this morning first thing !" 

Then we asked about the Wairoa Maories, and he told us 
they were paupers born and bred, would not work, and 
preferred to live on the Government allowance of flour and 
sugar. There was a flour-mill here belonging to the natives, 
but it is now broken and decayed ; also a church and school, 
both deserted. Laziness and ingratitude were loudly charged 
against the Maories by the Frenchman, who finished by saying 
— "Dey never think of all that I'fc done for them, bringing 
visitors to this place, this good-for-nothing hole, which I belief 
W05S the last place created on de face of de earth !" 

At length our suggestion as to repose temporarily cut short 
Pierre's narratives. " Well, one he can sleep here on this sofa 
by de fire, another one he can lie on this side, and one on dc 
floor — that makes three ; and two can sleep in de rooms — that 
makes de five of you." Without taking off our clothes, and 
with rugs over us, we lay down in our appointed places. Sleep, 
however, was difficult to obtain, owing to Peter walking out 
and in, telling us a tremendous story of how he single-handed 
met a crowd of Maories, gave them no quarter, but slew them 
all, and grafted the butt-end of his gun into the skull of an old 
chief 

In the morning we arose, stiff and cold, to find the wind 
howling, the rain falling in torrents, and Pierre chasing stray 
hens in the middle of a sanguinary tale of war, half heard 
amidst the hissing of bacon. By-and-by a Maori slid quietly 
in at the door of the hut, and told Captain Owen that the 
canoe could not face the gale, and that we would have to wait 
till the weather cleared up. As that seemed a question of 
weeks, we said we would go by land with this Maori as an 
additional guide — the rules being that a native must accompany 



"-*■-', '-—tn:i. ' :~:«:ii i*: " ""i i.? i : ziit z^tiz ' ^-r^^ zc z*z*zc Pft 



- --■ " 1 ---,.'-:-i if J i: i z-'-'i -yit . ■ rJIe the 



-^--'^--■^-- . ^ e--^ .' z..:..' iz f:. - i ?::reki-er<r who 

-'- - - - "-■ . •-' ": - '.'. ' : '. 77. 'zLZ _ I'l .' - ^. r r. - "-" 2. V v.'jj* -"~i-":r! " out 

-•-"i..- ."L-*' ----- ^ . . - . . _^-,_»_ ra^ "-»';'• . ••n 

■-■;;. -:i: - i' . r..-.^ L - .:.'.:: I -: :1 f ^^?j: cl-in: :ur — our 

.. ..- .. ...... _^ . . -_- -_ — ^ _ w.?-. ...<> OI 

' ■»_ ^_ _ 

t- 'J' '!.*•■ ^ -.-.._ ... • • • ^^ 

'. .1 y ._.,,'; 7 . . ^ - - .. - -- . - -• -. _...._ •-..■! TV-" ■ .» •T:rtV 

■f " . .. ^. .. .. ^.,_ ...^.,?.. ..^ rs.i>.-^C^OL.. ?*..« l*r*p" 

•■•■-■■-•' ^<.. .*. • •-- ■- .. .. • . 

J*"/- ^ •- r •- ^ — _ r'.»'« •• ■ •• • •»*••» 

* • •'!«.■. .li . ..... _ w.^i. c- J.... J :*v.ruD. u »iji j.iiia- 

Ki^ -:.s^vjr- t..;ir :!.-: -.vr^jtihe-i i; r-c- c. ulvi ?CarceIy lace. At 

lcri;;tri a :.j;/]; r;-.:^'j v. a- rcacr.cJ. frc::i •.vI-.liicc we :?a\v beneath 

u, tli': f;iiij ,Lj-. R'.: ,rna:;a::a ;• Rot:..'* lake, " inahar.ar \varm\ 

It vva-> aJ>,u: a :;.;:- in ic:*.;;;:h, and -ircicL; by jjrccn hfils, swept 

\>y drivj;.;/ iiii-.tx The Ma .rics have a >a\ in^j in reference to 

rain, that \\\m\\ -,lran;^-f:r.-» come llic n*ou:::ain.s weep; and ccr- 

lamly on tlii. or:^;^.ion the litllc hills around had burst into 

lincontroilabie ^;ri(.f. On this lake are >ituated the two "Tcr- 



The White Terrace. 155 

races"— unparalleled volcanic phenomena — each a long descent 
of wondrous basins formed by the silicious deposits of an over- 
flowing boiling spring, which takes its rise high up on the hill- 
side. One terrace is white, the other pink — one on each side 
of the lake. From our high point of vantage we saw only the 
first of these, " Te Tarata," in full view, like an immense white 
altar sunk into the hills that encompass the lake — the succession 
of basins a broad flight ol steps, and the cloud of steam at the 
summit the rising sacrificial incense. We crossed a warm- 
flowing creek in a rickety canoe, and came upon a large white 
flooring of silicate leading to the lower steps of Te Tarata. 
The terrace rose before us in all its strange beauty. We had 
to walk for thirty or forty yards along the peculiar flooring, 
finding it crisp, hollow to the tread, and covered with a thin 
film of water, like ice in the first stage of a thaw — the surface 
veined with countless arteries or skeleton twigs interlacing with 
each other, and half washed over with deposit, like twigs that 
had been frosted into the ground. These fjetrified twigs, and the 
Tffings and bodies of birds, together with a large variety of other 
articles hardened by the white deposit, can be purchased as 
mementoes from the Maories, who, to keep up the trade, place 
a constant supply of fresh specimens in the magic waters of the 
spring. 

The basins that compose the Terrace have been formed by 
accretion, though one would have fancied they had been 
hollowed out by the water. As the hot spring poured down 
year by year over the hill-side, it slowly built up these basins. 
These are of an exquisite shell-shape, with smooth rounded 
lips, and fringed with delicate stalactites, that droop thickly 
over the rim of each basin, in some places like a thick fleece, 
in others like hanging moss transformed into marble. The 
basins are of varying sizes, capable of accommodating four, 
six, or eight bathers, and gradually dwindling off at the base 
of the terrace to miniature pools about the size of breakfast- 
cups. The lai^e basins curve outwards, and the limits of one 
frequently overlap or blend imperceptibly into another. The 
water that flows down the terrace is of a bluish tinge, coloured 






by some mineral pigment ; the brimming pools in the basins 
are of a deep, opaque blue — a blue ne\'er seen in sk>* or sea, 
save in a boy's first water-colour painting. The colour, 
though aflfording a startling contrast, yet harmonises in hue 
with the general appearance of the terrace, which is said to be 
of dazzling whiteness :n the sun. The brilliant blue water 
looked very queer to us under a dark rainy skj*. 

Led by white guide and brown Maori, we conmienced to 
ascend the Terrace. Crisp, crisp, crisp ! — ^we went crunching 
along the rims of the basins, from one to another, zig>zagging 
thus up the front of the Terrace. Crisp, crisp, splash ! — our 
feet frequently slipped down the smooth, shelving interior of 
the basins, and we felt the warm u-ater unpleasantly in our 
boots. As we went up, the pools became of course hotter, till 
at the top we beheld the cause of the phenomenon — the boil- 
ing cauldron, one hundred feet above the level of the lake. It 
was a semi-circular crater, composed of walls of red earth, 
which had been gutted out of the hill — according to scientific 
authority, a crater of felspathic tufa, decomposed into yellow 
and red clays by the steam and gases of the spring. The 
cauldron was still, but small bells like diamonds were rising 
through the indigo depths to the surface. Strange to say, this 
cauldron ebbs or flows according to the direction of the wind, 
the spring at times boiling over, and at others becoming a 
yawning void. 

Looking down upon the terrace, the whole of the basins 
were seen at once — the blue pools set in a long descent of 
alabaster steps — a fairy scene, viewed under the discomfort of 
a gale and driving rain, which however had no power to break 
the spell. The whole scene was so amazingly unreal — the 
shape of the basins and the'vivid colours so unnatural Nature 
seemed for once to have had recourse to art, and eclipsed man 
in his own principles of design and effect. 

From the White Terrace we walked along a succession of 
jxiths of yellow, pink, red, and brown clay, and one that had 
the appearance of mottled soap. A deep crater now appeared 
with high steep sides, within which water was roaring and 



Hot Springs. 157 

steaming so wrathfully that when the guide proposed a closer 
inspection, one felt as if nearlng the fragile cage of some 
infuriated wild beast. A large cone of water, rising four feet 
amongst a host of smaller dome-shaped bubbles, travelled 
round the crater in all the agony of boiling point, flinging itself 
in wild concussions against the walls that mercifully imprisoned 
it, as if trying to break out and away from the scene of 
confusion. Skirting the raging spring, we came upon a thin 
wall of earth, separating this crater from another of equal size 
and impetuosity. The narrow ledge shook between the 
conflicting forces, and we had to cower down and hold on by 
any small shrub we could get within reach. Imagine us, 
enveloped in clouds of steam at times, hidden from each other, 
with a great commotion of tossing waters all around us. It 
was an awe-inspiring scene — or rather experience, for we saw 
but little — and we were glad to crawl along the thin high wall 
to a place of comparative security. 

This was afforded us in an open space of flat stony ground, 
seamed by rivulets of hot water, which took their rise in what 
looked like a moderate-sized Ash-pond, a circular pool rippling 
with heat A native woman, with her child slung behind her, 
was one day stooping over this pond, putting in some potatoes 
to boil, when the infant, rolling out of the shawl, fell over into 
the fatal pool, and in an instant the mother had sprung after it 
to certain death. Our guides here went slowly in front of us. 
Captain Owen now and then, with outstretched foot, tapping 
the ground in advance, and a hollow sound sometimes showing 
how needful was the precaution. At one place a hot spring 
puffed away with the steady rythmical sound of a stationary 
engine ; at another, a jet was roaring like a steamship blowing 
off steam ; an intermittent fountain ebbing and flowing. This 
spring was in connection with another some distance off, to 
which we next directed our step. It was a large, rough basin, 
with an escape-hole at one extremity. This hole was about 
four feet wide at the mouth, funnel-shaped, narrowing as it 
vent down, and the strata of the rock could be seen descending 
qnrally. We stood waiting for the water to rise, which it was 



158 Suiging Round the World, 

said to do every two or three minutes, and had not remained 
long when we heard a deep-down gurgling in the funnel. 
Nearer it came, and louder, with steam at last and a heavy 
rumbling noise. Then the water appeared, rising slowly but 
tossing actively — a wave swinging from side to side and flipp- 
ing up in the air — splashing, foaming, and rearing, falling back 
exhausted, and heaving up again, till the water was flush with 
the mouth of the hole, and the wave swung surging round the 
basin, shooting out columns of steam. We shrank away at 
times as it came near. Then the bursts languished, and the 
water abruptly gurgled away like the last dregs in the neck of 
an upturned bottle. The Maori scrambled across the warm 
basin to the edge of the funnel, and gazed down. But sobn he 
sprang back. The underground hot wave had set in again. 
The water rose in wrath and broke on the sides of the hole 
amid explosions as of miniature torpedoes, and sank as before: 
There was next the " Green Lake " to be seen — a small body 
of cold water, unruffled — its green not the scum of vegetable 
matter, but a pigment, like the blue of Te Tarata. Its cold- 
ness and placidity were very grateful amid the surrounding 
heat and turmoil. 

A canoe was to take us across to the Pink Terrace. The 
boatmen proved to be two aged Maories, who were sitting up 
to their necks in a warm bath, which was fed by a small gutter 
running across the road from a hot spring. They were par- 
taking very heartily of potatoes and an enormous mess of 
whitebait. They very cordially invited us to share their meal, 
which, to tell the truth, we were not sorry to do — eating of 
course with our fingers, for when you go to Rotomahana you 
have to do as Rotomahana does. With the unceremoniousness 
characteristic of this region, the spring gave three alarming 
snorts, and a volume of boiling water poured across the road, 
making our two old friends roll out of their bath in double- 
quick time. Simply clapping on a hat, the elder of the two 
conducted us to the canoe. This proved to be half of the 
trunk of a tree scooped out, which when new, say some thirty 
years ago, may have been a safe craft It could only 



7y« Pink Terrace. 159 

accommodate three at a time. The canoe wobbled violently, 
and as we clutched to steady ourselves, our lingers got into 
ripples of hot water. The Maori pushed off, and sprang Into 
the frail log without making it tilt, which seemed no small 
feat It was an absurd sight to see the gaunt old fellow sitting 
up on the stem, stark naked, and dripping with bead-drops of 
rain, looking like a carved image, and gravely propelling the 
canoe, which he did, by the way, with a .iiingle paddle. 




On coming near Llic Pink 
Terrace, the canoe crossed a veritable white river flowing 
out from the shore — a river of hot milk gushing out of a 
crater of white cheese — a sulphur-stream, in fact, taking its 
rise in a boiling spring. Then the Pink Terrace came in 
view. Now, this is what may be regarded as the greatest 
wonder of all — that there should be two terraces. You could 
believe in one, as a " fluke " of nature, but you are startled 
to find a duplicate marvel. The Pink Terrace is neither so 
lat^e nor so beautiful as the White Terrace, though it has a 
charm all its own in coming down close to the edge of the lake, 
like the flight of river-steps leading to an Indian temple. The 
" piak " of this terrace is a delicate salmon-colour, and though 



i6o Si7iging Round the WorU. 

it has not so bold an effect as the white of Te Tarata, when 
seen at a distance, yet the tint is very beautiful on a close in- 
spection. Tourists have written their names with pencil on 
the silicate, thereby ensuring immortality, for the deposit care- 
fully prevents any erasure. We stayed our denunciation on 
seeing that an indignant gentleman had already written : — 
" Here, where the feet of angels might tread, are inscribed the 
ubiquitous names of Brown, Jones, and Robinson ! " 

We had a bath of baths here ! The Maori conducted us to 
the best* basin, and then rolled into it himself without taking 
his clothes off — that is to say, he kept his hat on. He shrugged 
himself with ecstasy, and unctuously exclaimed, "Kapai! kapai! 
kapai !" (good). The wind' had increased to a gale, and we 
could scarcely undress on the edge of the basin for fear of being 
blown down into the one below. The sides of the bath were 
smooth and velvety, covered with a thin coating of ooze, very 
pleasant to the touch. The basin had a sloping side. You 
could take any depth you pleased, and at the bottom, a trifle 
warmer than the water, was a thick deposit of white mud. 
Soon the others came toiling up the terrace from the lake, and 
there the six of us swam, dived, and floated, in speechless 
pleasure. Rain might strike cold upon our faces, wind might 
blow, clouds might frown, but wc were in a state of ecstasy 
which even the thought of presently putting on our cold damp 
clothes could not allay. It was a bath which European or 
Oriental luxury has never yet equalled 1 Wc bathed an hour^ 
and came out rather light-headed and giddy. We got into the 
canoe again, went round the curving base of the noble White 
Terrace, and reaching the spot where we had tethered our 
horses, were in a few moments in painfully damp trot to 
Wairoa. 

Our ride back in the darkness to Wairoa was not with- 
out adventure. The darkness was an utter darkness, in- 
tensified by deep gorges and heavy clouds. The Maori 
chanted one of his " make-sings " or songs, and his voice, away 
in the van of our Indian file, sounded wild and romantic. \\y 
degrees it struck my cousin and myself, the last two cf the 



Ba^ to Wairoa. i6i 

straggling caravan, that those in front seemed to be getting 
farther and farther away. Then it flashed upon us we were 
lost ! After a time the Maori came tearing back at a fearful 
speed We could hear his horse rushing through the ferns, 
with the sound as of rending calico ; and he kept on shouting 
till he was close at our cars. Then, riding off apparently at 
right angles to the way we had come, he led us back to the 
right road. 

When within half-a-mile of Wairoa, we saw lights twinkling 
fer beneath us, and recollected a precipitous descent which 
still lay between us and the settlement. We had crawled up 
this on our hands and knees, dragging the horses after us, and 
how we were to reverse the process now became a profound 
mystery. The road was simply a narrow trench of alarming 
gradient, and as greasy with mud as if soaped for our special 
destruction. The captain went off first, amidst confused foot- 
slipping, hoof-sliding, invectives, and a sound as of man and 
horse alternately taking the lead down-hill, and rolling over 
and over each other. Then the Maori, followed by his horse, 
with one long rush went swiftly to the bottom. The Maori 
now proceeded to strike matches to show us the way down, 
" Tie up the bridles ! — let the horses slide !" cried the captain. 
We turned the first horse's unwilling head to the opening of 
the trench, and, with a good push on its hind-quarters, launched 
it like a ship, the animal not being able to stop itself. Then 
away went the second horse like an avalanche. Number three 
swerved at starting, and escaped from us, but he arrived safely 
by another route. " Number four now !" shouted the captain, 
while the Maori struck his final match ; and whiz went the 
last of the horses. One by one we slipped and rolled down the 
muddy trench, getting somewhat bruised and bespattered. 

The lights of Wairoa were all this time moving about as if 
distracted, for the Maories heard our shouting. We made 
good haste, and soon alighted at the " Maison," the owner of 
which bustled out to greet us. " Ha ! " said he, " I woss shoost 
coming with my lantairn to show you down, but I thought I 
could do more good making your suppaire." " Quite r^ht, my 



1 62 Singing Round the World, 

worthy Pierre," replied Captain Owen, and, following the 
example of the latter, we stripped ourselves to the skin, and 
hung up our wet clothes to dry. Then each robed himself 
simply in a blanket, and gathered round the big fire tha 
crackled on the floor. Then, after a ham supper, we 
warming ourselves till a late hour, listening to Peter's wil^ 
stories of adventure. What charm lay in those memorab^&e 
days of unfettered life — those days of pleasure, hardship, ar^Bad 
hard fare! I believe another month would have made i '<^ 
savages ! 



I 



■63 



CHAPTER XIII. 

Moonl Tongaiiro^Napier — Crossing the Manawatu Gorge — Wnnganui — 
— Leaving New Zealand. 

Very early, in cold and darkness, we left Ohinemutu for 
Napier, a coach-ride of 1 50 miles. We were the only passengers, 
the season of the year not being favourable to tourist traffic. 
The first stage of fifty miles was unusually rough, and literally 
made our heads sore with continued bumping on the 
roof. Lake Taupo was reached that evening, the coach draw- 
ing up at Tapuaeharuru, a large name for so small a place. It 
consisted of a stockade enclosing the post-office, telegraph- 
ofHce, store, and barracks, and surrounded by a ditch with 
plank-bridges thrown over it at places. The hotel was not 
within the palisade, and there we met "Jack," the famous 
guide to the Hot Lakes, a big stalwart man, with a heavy 
cloak, broad belt, high boots, a hat with a long pheasant's 
feather, and the appearance of a Swiss brigand. Lake Taupo 
is thirty miles long, and 1 200 feet above the sea. The country 
for many miles round is covered with a stratum of pumice, 
several hundred feet thick, burying up acres of splendid soil — 
all this being the matter ejected in former years from the 
neighbouring volcanoes of Ruapehu and Tongariro. Ruapehu 
is over 9000 feet high, and is not active now, but Ton- 
^riro, 7000 feet high, occasionally breaks out into grand 
■eruptions. Three years ago there was a magnificent display, 
the whole country being illuminated, and the loud booming of 
"Tongariro being heard as far as Napier, sixty miles distant 
This evening we had a magnificent view of these two 
-mountains, together with the other peaks, ranging from 3000 
tp 5000 feet, that surround Lake Taupo. The scene was lit up 
Iv a goi|^us sunset A bright crimson hue overspread the 
the mighty {ormr ntain-masses, almost 






entirely snow-clad, stood oat white, with bold sharp cut 
ootlines against the glowing red horizon. We left Taupo next 
day amid doleful rain, that bcded ill for our crossing the 
ri^'ers. Se\'eral miles on, we reached Opepe, a small 
constabularv' station, where there was a large gatherii^ 
of mounted constabulary, talking over a " play " acted by the 
Militarj- Dramatic Amateurs on the previous evening : — ^ Oh ! 
Henr>', how capitally you did the Count ! You're really a bom 
aristocrat, ha, ha ! " ''I don't know now ; I think you as the 
Marchioness was splendid ! 'pon my word, you're a tip-topper 
in the acting line." " You're both on you good — I liked you 
both," said a man, evidently a carrier, staggering in with his 
long whip ; " I bet on both of you — giss a drink, lallord — and 
Jobson there, he comes the Marquis, the long-lost-heir, in 
nobby style, I tell you — he's all there an' no mistake ! " By 
nightfall we arrived at a comfortable inn, and by daylight next 
morning started upon grand range-scenery. Hundreds of feet 
below us rushed a foaming river, while roaring torrents, leaping 
out from the towering mountain-sides, shone white through 
the grey mists of early morning. Snow-sprinkled heights 
gh'ttered here and there. The ravines smoked with vapour like 
cauldrons, and the gullies were packed with solid mist like 
drifted snow. Lofty steep slopes, mantled with rich green 
forests to their ver}- summits, swept majestically before our 
gaze, and extended far below, till lost to sight by the pro- 
jecting edge of the giddy road upon which our coach was 
circling. Every turn revealed new beauty and intensified the 
grandeur of the landscape ; while our eyes seemed to widen, 
and our whole frame to expand, in sympathy with the ampli- 
tude of the view. By-and-by from the top of a high hill, a 
strange sight could be seen. About thirty feet down the slope, 
there commenced a level white expanse of mist that conripletely 
concealed the country beneath on every side, isolating us as it 
were above the clouds, on an island high in mid-air, and ex- 
tending away out till it reached another range, the peaks of 
which, protruding through the mist, seemed little islets in the 
great sea of vapour. 



An Irish Waiter. 165 

" Get out ! " cried the driver — " there's a tree in the road," 
and he plunged into the bush in search of a wood-cutter. The 
tree, with its two thick limbs, had fallen out of the cutting and 
was lying across the road. But the driver returned with his 
man, and the two soon chopped away the under limb, while 
the coach drove under the natural archway with barely an inch 
to spare: A little farther on another tree lay across the road, 
with a prodigious root which could neither be lopped nor 
lifted We unharnessed the horses and led them over the 
thick trunk ; then, after arranging gradients of logs, half shoved 
half lifted the coach over, the vehicle descending with a crash 
on the farther side of the obstruction. 

It was quite dark when we got to Fohui, a roadside inn, 
where we learned that the rivers were unfordable. A fashion- 
ably late dinner was furnished in a woe-b^one outhouse in 
the rear of the iiin, the waiter being an eccentric Irishman, who 
also officiated as cook. He had a very high-flown manner of 
speech. " Gentlemin, little did I think of seeing such as you 
in this lone bush, here in this wild ; and though it may cost 
me my place, surs ; though I may be acting in direct opposition 
to my masthur, yet I'll rishk it, I'll rishk it ! yes, come what 
will, I will make you a cup of tea ! " The dinner was one long 
joke. "Did time permit, surs; did the heat of the rapidly- 
lighting fire allow, gentlemin, I'd prepare you a plate of 
buttered toast" " By removing this obstructing plate, I may 
be able to deposit the potatoes." " In the cruet-stand you will 
find, in its apportioned place, the newly-mixed mustard," We 
felt highly flattered, too, when the Irishman stepped up and said 
in a stage-whisper — " I was once a gentlemin like any of you, 
surs." 

We were up betimes in the morning, finding the rain had 
abated, and left with a wish from the waiter that we might 
" reach our destined place of arrival in good safety." This day 
consisted principally in fording, though it was always the same 
river we came to— the Esk, " where ford there was (ne.\t to) 
nont" We crossed it no less than forty-two times in ten miles, 
«ld as it was a turbulent ri' ''ad a very interesting time 



1 66 Singing Round the ]Vo7'IiL 

of it The flooded state of the rivers had washed away all the 
fords, and numbers of workmen, with spade and pickaxe, were 
to be seen starting off to make graded approaches on the 
different river-banks. At one place it was impossible to ford, 
the current having broken down the approaches. So, with 
stones and logs, and after long exertion a gradual slope was 
made into the river. But the poor horses sniffed and shied, 
and kicked all our wonderful engineering away, to our horror 
as we sat on the box, and the coach went with direful crash 
and splash into the river, almost on top of the horses, and half 
turning over with the violence of the shock. Resuming our 
journey, there was more rough bumping, one jolt being so 
severe that it threw my brother James off the box-seat upon 
the sloping bank on the roadside, whence he rolled upon the 
wheels, grazing and contusing his arm. 

Our eventful ride ended on a long shingle spit running into 
the harbour of Ahuriri, the port of Napier. We were rowed 
across in a small boat upon a lumpy sea, two or three waves 
coming on board and soaking us to the skin. The river Ahuriri, 
in high flood, was running with terrible current and dyeing the 
harbour a reddish hue. It cauG:ht our boat and carried us with 
great force, despite all efforts, in the direction of a large moored 
vessel. The boatman unable to make headway, dropped the 
oars, and yelled for a rope from tliose on board, who were 
anxiously watching our progress. Before we could catch a 
line, the boat was swept at great speed upon the rocks. Quick 
as thought we jumped out and scrambled to our feet. We had 
a narrow escape from being carried out to sea. In consideration 
of the hard work on the road, and the assistance we had given 
to the driver, the coach-agent actually offered us a considerable 
reduction in the fare. Two days afterwards, we were joined by 
my father and sisters, who, it will be remembered, had sailed 
from Auckland to Napier by sea. They were five days in a 
small steamboat, which at every unfavouring breeze had to run 
round some headland for shelter. The coast was thoroughly 
explored, though it is not known that much has been added to 
the discoveries of Captain Cook and others. 



Across the North Island. 167 

At Napier, as in other towns, there was a considerable Maori 
element in our audiences. As a rule the natives were very 
■well-dressed after their fashion, and in most cases occupied 
front seats, while they all religiously purchased the book of 
words. The manager had engaged a Maori boy to sell the 
song-books, but at the close of the entertainment the urchin 
had vanished. Next morning, however, he was to be seen 
unabashed and guileless, being greatly disappointed at finding 
he was not to retain the entire proceeds of the night's sales. 

Our route now lay across the North Island from Napier 
to Wanganui by coach, a trip that occupied five days. The 
road had only been opened a few months, and at several 
places had been blocked up by the Maories, because of 
some grievances. Word came, too, that the rivers were up, 
and altogether the look of affairs was far from encouraging. 
The first stage was one of forty miles to Waipawa, an 
embryo country town, with stores and a hotel. Two new 
banks had just been "established" — that is, two rival banks 
had, in expectation of this place becoming lively, sent two 
managers here. They lived at this same hotel, helped each 
other .peaceably to beef and mutton at dinner, and smoked 
together in the verandah. One held his bank in the hotel- 
parlour, the other in the bar. The hotel was full of strangers, 
whose journeys had been delayed by floods. Walking in the 
bush, we met an elderly bushman, followed by his wife, who 
looked far older than he. " I come from Maidstone, in Kent," 
said he, with a strong provincial accent — " I've had eighteen 
children, and I reared ten of 'em under Squire Plummer at 
home. I came out here with young Squire Plummer ; but 
before that I drove Wombwcll's Menagerie, and I'm not 
ashamed to own it." He led us to a clearing in a green wild 
of matai timber, where stood his wooden home, which he had 
just completed in the space of one week. " I was flooded out 
of my last place six years ago," said this energetic veteran — 
•* I've been flooded out two or three times, and my house went 
to wreck and ruin, so I've come here to make myself a new 
«- ™,g seventy-three )rc !, and yet the old 



i6S Singing Round tlie World. 

fellow talked of beginning life, as it were. " You've come here,** 
I remarked, **to spend in comfort the long future that lies 
before you?" " I reckon so," said he, "for my father died at 
105, and my mother at 1 15 ! " 

Next afternoon we rejoined the public coach, and safely 
-crossed the Waipawa river. A Maori rode alongside to show 
a safe ford on the river Waipukurau ; but he brought us into 
deep water, against a submerged terrace of shingle over which 
the team could not pull the coach. So the Maori jumped off 
his horse and carried the passengers one by one to dry land — 
no easy task, as some of us were not by any means light- 
weights. There were now some miles of a bad road, along the 
beds of rivers, and over sloughs of mud, mostly travelled in the 
darkness. At last one or two lights came in sight, and we 
drove up to a wayside inn, an excellent specimen of the genus. 
It was kept by a Scotchman named Fergusson, who lived at 
" Fergusson*s.'' In the old country. Lords get their titles from 
their estates ; in New Zealand a man's property is named after 
himself ; so the hotel and half-dozen houses in this neighbour- 
hood are called '* Fergusson's." Next section of the journey 
was commenced just before daybreak, and lay through miles of 
mire. Amidst the partial gloom of early dawn we stopped now 
and then at some Scandinavian cottage, where letters were 
handed to ghost-like forms, and messages returned in 
outlandish tongues. There are many of these rough northern 
people about this district, engaged in clearing themselves 
homes in the bush. These men are the advance-guard of 
settlement — bush skirmishers in the van of the army that is 
advancing to civilise the forest. 

After breakfast at another comfortable roadside hotel, our 
journey was through some superb New Zealand bush. The 
Australian bush is a park — the New Zealand forest is a jungle. 
You can drive round about the trees in Australia, but you 
cannot make your way through the dense undergrowth and 
close-standing timber of New Zealand. Coach-roads have to 
be made at the point of the axe. We were now travelling a 
lane cut sharply through these wilds, with straight walls c' 



New Zealand Bush. i6g 

vegetation on either side. We entered upon the bush from 
plain, untimtiered country. As a prelude came one or two 
bare, tall trunks — ragged and leafless sentinels to the gateway 
of the woods. Then we were whirled into a bewildering 
fantasia of vegetation — roulades and cadenzas of foliage — 
playing round the steady, rythmical, stately march of the trees, 
with lovely fern-trees appearing like grace-notes in the melodic 
progress of the grand lofty timber. Everything seemed to be 
growing on everything else. Green parasites wound up and 
around the trees, vines and creepers hung themselves like ropes 
from bough to bough, drooping in festoons or hanging like long 
halters, while the "supple-jacks," coiling around the humid, 
cylindrical trunks, buried their heads like snakes in the foliage 
at the top. Absolute stillness prevailed ; for, except the dull 
rumble of the wheels, the infrequent harsh cry of a kaka parrot, 
or the cooing of a fantail pigeon %s it flew down the sunny 
avenue of bush, there was nothing to break the silence. At 
intervals one noticed " pukekos," or Maori swamp-hens, with 
red heads, purple bodies, white-spreading tails, and long red 
l^s. Through the manuka scrub and spiked toi-toi grass there 
trotted, with wagging ears, stray wild pigs, descendants of those 
left by Captain Cook, and now regarded as capital game by 
the hunter. Logs lay on the ground blood-stained with bright 
red splatches of fungus. The karaka tree spread its glossy ivy 
leaves, and the rimu hung its graceful, willow-like foliage. The 
beautiful wekeponga, or tree-fern, reared its exquisite form 
some twenty to thirty feet high — a long black stem suddenly 
expanding into an umbrella of spreading fronds, which 
sheltered its elegant tracery in the most retired nooks. The 
colours in the bush did not call for much remark, the pre- 
vailing tint being a bright, humid greenness ; but the attrac- 
tiveness of New Zealand forests lies more in the beauty of 
form than the charm of colour. 

The Manawatu Gorge is the boundary between the pro- 
vinces of Hawke's Bay and Wellington. Here the coach 
went no farther, and each passenger was slung across the chasm, 
"ro feet wide, altti] tuple of planks suspended 



I/O Singing Round t/ie World. 

from a wire rope 200 feet above the level of the river. Whether 
of the sterner or the gentler sex, you had to get astride this 
frail support and hold on by both hands to a small line over- 
head. It was a perilous aerial flight Sometimes a timid &ir 
one would refuse to venture it, and occasionally men were not 
free from pardonable distrust We met one fellow a short way 
back, travelling towards Wellington via Napier — a wonderfully 
roundabout journey — for the express purpose of avoiding this 
gorge. My sister Helen and I took position on the planks, 
and the two men at the windlass launched us into space. We 
whirred down the rope, which sagged owing to its weight, and 
then were slowly drawn up the other side. Now and again the 
working-gear gives way, and the unfortunate traveller is Idl 
suspended high over the raging torrent ; but on this occasion 
everything went smoothly. Robert came over astride between 
our luggage, a box in front of him and a large trunk behind 
him. To us who had crossed, he appeared a human spider 
slowly crawling along a gossamer line. The plank came vio- 
lently against the bank, the concussion of the luggage almost 
knocking the breath out of my brother's body. The signal was 
given, and the apparatus went back to fetch my father, who 
had the honour of being drawn across solus. Then Marjory 
and James started, and had advanced successfully half-wa/^ 
when a jerk of the hauling rope whipped off my sister's hzt'^^ 
which soon floated a black speck far beneath on the foam, 
primitive board and pulley have now given place to an iro 
cage, a bridge, also, is being built across the river, with mas 
sivc piers, which are not by any means unnecessary, for 
Manawatu, running in this compressed channel, very ofte 
rises forty feet in a single night 

The gorge was peculiar in its grandeur. The heights, rear- 
ing themselves giddy on either hand, were concealed by thick- 
est vegetation — the immense forests, diminished to shrubbery 
by distance, and starred by peeping fern-trees, sweeping dovm 
like a richly-patterned green carpet upon the face of the preci- 
pices. Heavy rain-clouds, brooding over the gorge^ trailed 
deeply into the tree-tops, and through these smote pierdi^ 



The Manawatu Gorge. 171 

gleams of sunshine, that, striking the opposite heights, lit up 
the bright verdure with flakes of still more vivid green. The 
goi^ shot out headlands and bluffs — the splendid vista stretch- 
ing along till it ended in abrupt high portals, through which ' 
we saw an open window of white sky, and the distant low- 
lying country framed in like a picture by the natural gateway. 

The road now skirted one side of this gorge at an elevation 
of 300 feet — a mere shelf of a road cut out of the solid rock. 
He told us the road was so dangerous that the proprietors, 
from motives of economy, had put on an old coach ; but we 
are inclined to regard this as a fabrication. When we came to 
a comer, he drove the horses out as if going into space, and 
just when their front hoofs seemed slipping into the abyss, he 
dexterously wheeled the coach round. We never felt so 
strongly that it was one's duty to ease the brute creation by 
getting out and walking; but the eye of the driver was upon 
us, and our honour at staka A horseman met us, and he had 
to stand quietly at a somewhat wider portion of the road; till 
we had driven cautiously past him. At the softer cuttings the 
earth crumbled down by the vibration of the coach, and at one 
spot lay a heap of stones that had fallen out on the driver's 
last trip, and almost finished his career. The most dangerous 
thing, however, seemed to be the waterfalls that poured over 
the road, interrupted in their headlong rush to the river. The 
larger cascades, that would have worn down the road, were 
boarded up by wooden shutters that flung back the stream 
upon the rocks and sent it rushing through a culvert This 
hazardous road is only four and a half miles long, but nine 
men are employed all the year round clearing and repairing it 

At the township of Palmerston we heard definitely that the 
Oroua bridge had been blocked by the Nga-tika-whate tribe, 
and that the short cut to Wanganui was impossible. The 
Maori grievances centred in one of a number of reserves. The 
natives wished for power to lease and sell land, like the white 
man, an old Act of Parliament forbidding their doing so save 
duDU^ Government. The whole affair seemed to have been 
i^pted by ftorek^en^n who had advanced money and 



1/2 Sifiging Round t/ie World, 

provisions to the native land-owners on the security of this land, 
and in the hope of being ultimately able to purchase it A 
short time previously, a Scotsman named Macdonald, who had 
worked himself into the good graces of the natives and been 
elected a chief, shot one of the horses of a mail-coach that 
attempted to cross the boundary, and this Scotch Maori now 
lay in Wellington awaiting trial. A strong four-railed fence 
had been erected across the bend of the river, and trees felled 
across all the tracks through the bush, while a large company 
of old women, and children had been stationed to watch the 
bridge. This necessitated our travelling forty miles out of our 
way. I may state that the road was latterly forced open by 
the armed constabular}*^, and Macdonald received three years' 
imprisonment Twenty-four miles of a horse-tramway brought 
us to Foxton ; we had now reached the other side of the 
island. 

Next morning we left for Wanganui. On harnessing up, 
one of the horses butted and knocked our driver violently upon 
the ground, and he scarcely recovered from the shock all day. 
One of the coach-passengers was a boy who had run away from 
a ship in which he had been a midshipman. He appeared 
about fourteen years of age, and was reading a novel. The 
young scamp had left Leith but a year ago, and told us, in a 
cool, careless manner, that he intended making his own fortune 
in the world, and was now on the way to a sheep-station. 

The coach traversed lonely plains, sprinkled with home- 
steads and Maori pahs, fields and native settlements, whar&s 
and villas, white man and brown mixing peaceably in their 
avocations. We sighted the river Wanganui, and drove along 
one bank of it, while on the opposite side stretched the town 
that bears its name. Houses and shops with big signs lined 
the shore — in front of them, Maori tents, canoes, produce, small 
wharves, and the bright shining river ; while behind lay the 
body of the town, backed by clumps of green hills, on one of 
which stood the fortified "Block House." We crossed into 
the middle of the town by a magnificent iron bridge, and put 
up at a hotel overlooking the Market Square. In the centre 



A Nest of North Britons. 173 

of this square stands a monument erected to the Maories who 
fell fighting against the Hau-Hau rebels in a battle not far 
from Wanganui. The inscription runs : — " In memory of the 
biave men who fell at Motua in defence of Law and Order 
against Fanaticism and Barbarism." There is much here to 
remind a person of the Maori war. Besides the " Block House," 
with its loop-holes and musket-holes, there are the many- 
monuments one sees in the churchyards, reared to those slain 
during that deplorable struggle. 

There is here an extraordinary nest of North Britons. The 
Scottish element even penetrates into the bill-of-fare of the 
hotel, and you are supplied with porridge, despite the fact that 
the cook is a Chinaman. Imagine "parritch" made by an 
Asiatic ! The Scotch people were most of them characters in 
their way. At home, men are generally stereotyped, seem 
made in one oommon mould, with not much opportunity to 
develop peculiarities, but here, as in all new countries, there is 
independence of thought and action. Some of the Scotsmen 
even prided themselves on the way they had kept their dialect 
intact for many years — displayed their accent as they might 
have done some fine old wine ! One Wanganui man had gone 
home to Scotland, but he came back again gladly to New 
Zealand. People in the old country were too formal and stuck- 
up for him, and he returned joyfully to the freedom of this 
part of the world, where " everyone can do what he likes and 
how he pleases, without consulting anybody t " Many people 
we met were farmers, all prosperous, with everything good to 
say about the land, but grumbling sorely at what they called 
the " pest of pheasants." These birds have become as great a 
plague as the rabbits in Western Otaga 

Among our fellow passengers to Wellington in the small 
steamer " Manawatu," chanced to be two noted Maori chiefs, 
who were going down to the capital to inquire into some native 
grievances. Scores of Maories came to hold a "Tangi," or 
" Farewell Sing," in their honour. The two chiefs, dressed in 
tweed, waved their white hats. "Goo-byi- "" ^hey 

cried. " Goo-bye, goo-bye !" was echoed 



If 4 Singing Round the World. 

the eldest chief mounted to the bridge of the steamer, and while 
he stood bare-headed, sang a vigorous " Parting Song/' one line 
by himself, and the shore bursting loudly into the refrain. One 
woman in a man's black frock coat leaped excitedly in immense 
curtsies, twirling her fingers, and screaming out farewell. The 
steamer gliding off, the chiefs stood up together on the paddle- 
box, and sang a duet, which was phonetically as follows : — 

" Ah xnaka ceky pooaroa, ee — ah — too, 
Mowy hootoo teeky ranga pah wajrratoo ! " 

or something to that effect, replied to by something like this : — 

" Oha reeky pookoo poo, hekky parawa, 
Wangaroa whato te, hapoo whakawa I " 

The ceremony finished in a magnificent " Hep, hep, hooray ! " 
From different points on each side of the river rushed other 
Maories, who ran singing until their breath failed, the two 
honoured chiefs bolting first to one side of the steamer and then 
to the other, according to the loudness or warmth of their re- 
ception. 

Having revisited Wellington, Christchurch, and Dunedin, we 
turned our faces again towards Melbourne. It was with no 
common feelings of regret that we parted from our many kind 
friends in this far-off quarter of the world. When we set sail 
— when the south-western ranges faded in the evening mists, 
our verdict on New Zealand was summed up in these words, 
"We ne'er shall look upon its like again !" 



Return to Melbourne. 



CHAPTER XIV. 



On the voyage from New Zealand, a gale started up and blew 
in our teeth for several days, culminating on the seventh in a 
i^ging tempest. The captain vowed that had his not been a 
mail-boat he would have " turned tail." During the night a 
wave smashed under the "counter" of the steamer, and all, 
even the mate, who was on duty at the time, thought she had 
struck a rock — all, save one old traveller, who turned himself 
over in his berth, said knowingly, "One!" and listened. 
* Ah," he continued, with a relieved expression, " it's all right — 
had there been three bumps, it would have been a rock. I'm 
used to shipwreck — I've been in the China Seas," The voice 
of this connoisseur in disaster then became lost in a howling 
climax of the storm. Right glad were we to arrive in 
Melbourne. Driving along the busy streets our waggonette 
was stopped every minute by welcoming friends. A series of 
prosperous farewell concerts were given, the final performance, 
in the Town Hall, being attended by over 3000 persons. 
Then we sailed north again to Sydney. The weather seemed 
almost tropical, as if on purpose to give suiting welcome to the 
ex-Kingof Fiji, whose arrival on the shores of Australia was 
everyday expected At last H.M,S. "Dido" hove in sight, 
and we went down to the jetty to assist in the reception of 
Cacombau. At the gate of the delightful grounds that led to 
the Governor's residence, stood several Fijians, with formidable 
war-clubs. A gentleman shook hands with each of the blacks, 
gravely saying, " I salute you, my fellow - countrymen ! " 
When the boat conveying the King touched the shore, the 
<jOvemor shook hands with his Fijian Hfehnesa Cacombau 
vu a swarthv. srrev-headed man, porti ice with a 



1/6 Singing Round tlie World. 

long white beard. He was bareheaded, barearmed, barelegged, 
and barefooted, had his body lightly covered with a clean 
white shirt, while round his waist was tied an ornamental robe. 
Sir Hercules Robinson took the old man's arm and led him to 
the vice-regal mansion. As they passed us, the Governor was 
saying to Cacombau, ** What do you think of Sydney Harbour?* 
and we thought of the number of times the poor King would 
have to answer that question before he left these shores ! 

In June of 1875 we took farewell of Australia. We left 
Sydney on a voyage to San Francisco by way of Auckland 
(New Zealand) and Honolulu in the Sandwich Islands. The 
day was miserable, Sydney Harbour almost hidden by lashing 
rain, and all things looking dreary. The steamer slowly 
battled out of Port Jackson. The sea swept in past the pre* 
cipitous headlands with seeming overwhelming rush, lifting the 
large vessel as if it had been a tug-boat. During the next 
five days it was the same dreary game of pitch and toss. The 
steamer was far too heavily laden. She was a vessel of 140a 
tons, and carried 2100 tons of coal, enough to take her to San 
Francisco and back. Seas washed over the deck from morn- 
ing till night, and after a while poured into the cabins below, 
from whence we heard the plaintive cries of a large family of 
children. 

Every day the gale increased in violence, and the engines- 
had to be put at quarter speed, owing to the head seas. At 
two o'clock on the morning of the seventh day, the wind ros^ 
to a howling tempest, accompanied by vivid lightning. A tow-^ 
ering sea broke like thunder over the steamer and submerged- 
it from stem to stern. I was awakened, like everybody else,^ 
by the fearful noise, and by the icy-cold water rushing through 
the lattice-work of the berth, and soaking me to the skin. Get- 
ting up in a great hurry, my limbs found themselves in a two- 
foot depth of water, with boots, socks, and bundles washing 
about in every direction. The sea had poured over the fore- 
yard, and swept the vessel fore and aft. It first carried away 
the butcher's shop, never more to be seen — then washed sly 
and sheep-pens, pigs and pig-styes, hens and hen-coopff 



Storm at Sea. 177 

overboard — stove in the wheel-house — washed the boats adrift 
■ — broke into the captain's cabin, and the door, torn off its 
hinges, gashed open the captain's eye, then rushing about the 
upper deck, the sea poured in one great wave into the engine- 
room and furnace-room, deluging the stokers and reaching to 
within an inch or so of the fires. Had another sea like this 
come over, the fires would have been extinguished, steerage- 
way lost, and we would assuredly have gone to the bottom. 
The sea in its fury swept down two canaries from their airy 
perch inside the skylight ; but the cold, bedraggled songsters 
were rescued from the flood, and my mother compassionately 
placed them in her bosom, where, revived by the gentle 
warmth, they uttered feeble chirrups. 

When the water had poured into the saloon, the passengers 
hastily appeared in all stages of undress. We jumped out, 
treeing warily to keep our bare feet from the broken glass 
that washed about like shingle with every heavy roll of the 
steamer, while stray tin basins floated violently against our 
shins. The captain himself soon appeared, with bandaged, 
Ueedtng face, and gave stentorian orders. The passengers 
stood in long line, ladling up the water with every possible 
utensil — some of us handing along the full buckets, and some 
baling out with pots, pans, and shovels — the harsh scooping up 
of the water, the clatter of pails, and the chorus of voices 
shouting " Pass up the empties !" being almost drowned by the 
noise of the great volume of water as it rolled backward and 
forward against the sides of the saloon. By four o'clock in the 
morning, the work was done, after incessant hard labour. The 
soaking mattresses and bedclothes were heaped up on the floor 
of the saloon, and we lay down to sleep on rugs. Then the 
stewards came round and gave tea to one, brandy to another, 
till all foigot their troubles. 

Next day the weather cleared. The steamer presented a 
woful spectacle. The decks were strewn with wreckage — the 
door of the captain's cabin, the remnants of pens and -coops, 
and three stove-in boats. The companion-ladder was in 
pieces, — the sky-light of the engine-room completely smashed, 



lyS Siuging^ Round tJu World. 

railings twisted like cork-screws — and a strong iron vendlator 
punched in like a cocked hat The hardest heart, too, would 
have been touched by the aflecting sight of a scraggy, drenched 
hen roosting with sad feeble eye amongst the skeleton wredc 
of its old coop, to which the fowl still seemed to cling with a 
tender feeling. Exhilarated by the weather, the young men 
on board, and se\'eral old one's too, formed themselves into aa 
impromptu troupe of Christy Minstrels, sitting along die 
saloon skylight, and going through a long programme of songs, 
choruses, and jokes. On the ninth day we approached 
Auckland, four days overdue ; and the New Zealand people 
were hardly expecting to see us at all. Before leaving, wc 
took on board three carpenters, who were going with us to 
San Francisco and back for the sole purpose of repairing the 
damage. 

Near the close of a summer afternoon, sixteen days after 
leaving Auckland, the " Macgregor " neared the Sandwich Is- 
lands. First an island with a peak 10,000 feet high ; behind it 
a mountain 13,000 feet in height — both active craters. Before 
us appeared the brown velvety outlines of the island upon which 
Honolulu is situated. As night set in we lay off the town, 
which could be seen by its twinkling lights. 

The steamer whistled again and again — rockets and bluft 
lights were displayed — but no pilot came. At last our long- 
expected man — who, being a pilot, lived some distance inland — * 
was seen approaching in a boat, and lighting the small beacof^-' 
of the harbour. Then he waved a red lantern, and shoute^^ 
" Back, back ! you're over the reef!" He clambered on boarc£^ 
telling the captain in Scotch accents that he, the pilot, h 
never been so frightened before, for in a few moments the co; 
would have rent a hole in the steamer. A boat shoots off froo^ 
the side of the steamer. Hark ! what hideous yells break fortf^ 
upon the murky air ! Six natives appear to be killing tw^ 
others in the bows. The victims utter thrilling cries, 
reach the shore. Fearful shrieks ! Then fresh yells from 
party of rescue, determined to conquer the bloodthirsty vtUab^ 
by superior lung-power. A pitched battle ensues^ a flappi 



Honolulu, 179 

of bare feet, two piercing cries, a low murmur of many voices, 
and the dark deed is over I " Good gracious ! what has hap- 
pened ? ** " Oh," says the quartermaster, ** 'specks them niggers 
have just taken a rope ashore ! " 

In the morning the little harbour, backed by the rugged 
volcanic mountains, was bright in the sun — its blue waters 
fringed with cocoa-nut groves and huts, and dotted with native 
canoes. The streets of Honolulu were quaint and lively. Every 
few steps a Kanaka could be seen toiling along between two 
lofty narrow bales or pillars of hay, seven or eight feet high, 
and sold for horse-feed. Down the narrow thoroughfares 
dasbed native equestrians at a headlong pace — the women 
riding astraddle like the men, with long gay-coloured scarfs 
floating out behind them. 

The passengers were besieged by natives with hacks for hire 
— miserable horses with Mexican saddles, that seemed like a 
house-roof of leather put upon the poor animal's back. The 
saddle has a large horn in front for hanging the lasso on, 
which pommel is always digging itself playfully into the dia- 
phragm of the trusting stranger. Furthermore, the stirrups 
are leather shoes, and end at the heel in a big flap. The 
Mexican mustang is spirited and skittish, and the state of 
aflairs is not improved by the double bit, which you are 
cautioned " not to pull on." A fellow-passenger mounted one 
of these scraggy backs, pulled on the rein to steady himself, 
and the mustang instantly threw its rider, stunning him for 
several minutes. The rest of our steamboat friends rode off" 
carefully on their respective little steeds — a side-splitting 
exhibition, each equestrian being shaded with a straw hat of 
great circumference, the legs of the rider almost trailing on the 
ground, and the flaps of the stirrups going like fans with every 
jc^ of the animal. 

Very few strangers fail to see the wonderful Pali or Pass 
lying at the back of Honolulu. We hired a waggonette from 
a Chinamani another from a Kanaka, and were driven ofl* by 
nationalities.' Reaching a slight hill at the end of the 

■^ur vehicle, turned a corner, and found 



i8o Singing Round i/ie World, 

ourselves on the edgeof an abyss, high above an enormous 
sweeping landscape. Away beneath you spreads a vast expanse 
of country, flooded in sunshine, broken up into heaving brown 
billows covered with a dark surge of vegetation, and through 
it all stretching a blood-red road like a long sinuous serpent 
To the left, the landscape rises in a prolonged steady swell, 
till it laps the base of a giant precipice — a sombre, heavy 
mountain mass, its face lined with downward ribs of rock, like 
a huge cathedral-wall, and its summit concealed by heavy 
clouds. At the foot of this towering cliff, but invisible because 
of distance or concealing foliage, lie some thousands of whitened 
human skulls and bones, the ghastly memorial of a hidpous 
catastrophe long lost in the mists of tradition. Closer to you 
stands a peak like a massive tusk or horn, while other heights 
circle behind you, and a long causeway, a continuation of the 
valley-road, winds steeply down the sides of the eminences to 
the low-lying country. To your right, with magical effect, 
appear the tranquil waters of the Pacific, glistening under the 
full glare of noon-day ; and round the curving rim of the shore, 
a belt of light green shoal water, with a fringe of foam breaking 
white upon the coral reef. 

Human figures were not wanting to give additional interest 
to the scene. Up the long precipitous causeway came a 
Kanaka riding to town with a pack-horse, on each side of 
which hung a sack with a black pig's head sticking out of it ; 
then a party of six Spanish-looking priests, with shovel-hats 
and long black coats, cantering on mustangs. On the way 
back, a Kanaka took us through " Queen Emma's Garden," 
the grounds belonging to the widow of a Hawaian King. We 
saw nothing but weeds and rank growth, but the native put a 
bold face on it, and acted the cicerone in an admirable man- 
ner, pointing out the arbour usually occupied by the Queen, 
and the trees specially admired by her Majesty. He was really 
a capital guide, and even when we discovered that this was not 
the garden of Queen Emma after all, we could hardly feel 
angry with the fellow. 

The Kanakas appear to be quiet, well dressed, healthy peo- 
ple. The women attire themselves in long flowing gowns, tied 



Ttie Kanakas. i8i 

,high up about the chest, so that their waists appear to be under 
their armpits. The men dress in modification of European 
costume. Their favourite food is " poi," made of ground taro- 
root and water, in a state of fermentation — the Kanakas being 
in this respect different from their forefathers, who in the days 
of Captain Cook went in more for a carnivorous diet There 
are different stages of " poi." We saw a native pounding dough 
with a pestle. This was " hard poi,*' and eaten with the fin- 
gers. There is, for example, " one-finger poi," which you poul- 
tice your finger with, and by adroit balancing convey to your 
mouth. There is also a further stage of fermentation, " two- 
finger poi," when it becomes so thin that two fingers are re- 
quired to lift it Then there are more stages still — " three and 
four finger poi," — till you reach " hand poi," when the watery 
mixture has to be scooped into the mouth. 

The white community of Honolulu is very quiet and homely. 
Any stranger arriving to take up abode here is welcomed as a 
novelty, and open house is kept in his or her honour. If a lady 
has a dress she doesn't care for, or one that is superfluous, she 
sells it to a friend. Old dresses are a marketable commodfty. 
One Honolulu lady we afterwards saw in San Francisco, buying 
there a great amount of artificial flowers, and saying, " I've 
bought more than I want, of course, but then when ■ I go back 
home the folks will be crowding round me to buy them ! " 

Here the " Macgregor " took on several passengers, including 
five or six officers of the American war-steamer " Pensacola," 
then lying in port In the evening the brass band of the man- 
of-war serenaded the officers. The musicians were rowed along- 
side our steamer — their boat, brilliantly illuminated with lamps, 
shining like an enchanted barge or Venetian gondola. When 
the band finished a tune the passengers burst out with a stirring 
American song — instrumental and vocal music alternating for 
about an hour. Then we steamed off amid the inevitable 
strains of " Auld Lang Syne," played by the band and joined 
in by those on board. So ended our short stay of 24 hours in 
this Pacific Paradise. In 9 days from Honolulu, 31 days from 
Sydney in all, we had arrived at San Francisco. 



1 82 Singing Rotmd the World, 



CHAPTER XV. 

San Francisco— The City and the People — ^The Trans-Continental Railway— Salt 
Lake City — A Mormon Sermon— Chicago — Hotel Life in America. 

As we approached the shores of Cah'fomia, a white sea-fog 
obscured the view ; but nearing the Golden Gate, the entrance 
to the harbour of San Francisco, the sky cleared, and we 
beheld the high sunny slopes that converge towards the 
Heads. The interesting Seal Rock was passed, on which huge 
sea-lions were basking in the sun. Then, farther in, an old 
Spanish fort, suggestive of the time when San Francisco was 
the site of a Roman Catholic mission — a heavy, square fortress 
close to the water's edge, with cannon on its big flat roof, and 
looking as if settling into the harbour by reason of its own 
dead weight. A point of land drawing off, displayed an 
unsatisfactory back view of the arid heights of the great 
occidental metropolis, which might have been called Sand 
Francisco without the smallest injustice. 

When moored to the wharf, the vessel was boarded by an 
unbroken string of hotel-runners, each shouting out the name 
of his hotel in strong nasal twang with a ring of the dollar 
about it — adding " Free Coach " as an extra inducement, anc^ 
each feverishly jerking his cards into the unwilling hands of thi 
passengers, every one of whom feels after a while that this is 
interesting round game of hotels, and he holds all the trump 
Having fixed upon one fellow, who bespeaks us urgently for^ 
his " ho-tel " (not any sort of " tel," mind you, but a A^-tel), we ^ 
are driven off in an elegant carriage and pair. 

San Francisco, despite its situation amid the barren sand- 
dunes, has made great progress. Montgomery Street is the 
chief street, but it seems narrower than it really is by the lofty 
buildings on either hand — the view at one extremity being 
shut off by the colossal proportions of the new Palace Hotel. 



San Francisco. 183 

You feel at once in an American town by the peculiar shop- 
sig^s, and the advertising banners hung across the streets. We 
took up our abode at the Grand Hotel, the spacious dining- 
room of which accommodated three hundred persons. It was a 
building of four stories, but dwarfed by being opposite the 
great. new Palace Hotel. This latter has been put up in 
defiance of the earthquakes that occasionally "shog" the 
Pacific Slope. It is a big thing, " I guess " — the biggest thing 
of the kind in the world. Architecturally, however, it is a 
failure. Sober-minded people regard it as only a kind of 
superior barracks. Its "hugeosity" is only equalled by its 
"uglitude." 

This is the city of extravagance, fast living, and excitement 
The number of hawk-eyed men we met in the streets was 
remarkable, and one felt that in a short time he might become 
hawk-eyed too. A morbid business spirit prevails. Every- 
thing seems undertaken as if the end of the world were next 
week, and much had yet to be done. Men weary their brains 
over stocks and shares till no one wonders that the lunatic 
asylum of California is the largest in the United States. A 
marked looseness of living and dissipation of thought exists. 
Such-and-such a man was pointed out as being "famous'' 
{Ang^/icij notorious) for certain questionable transactions ; and 
this lady here was described as being the " smartest woman in 
San Francisco," one who " drove the flashest team in all the 
city." At one of our concerts there was present a lady who 
had shot a man. She had been tried for murder, and sentenced 
to be hanged, when it was discovered she possessed forty thou- 
sand dollars. Of course, a new trial was immediately instituted 
— an "intelligent" jury said ** Not guilty," and the woman goes 
free to this day. Still a strong feeling of equality obtains 
here. Being one forenoon in a printing-office, I saw a group 
of persons round the clerk's desk — the employer standing 
surrounded by the foreman and several others of the work- 
people. They were engaged anxiously looking over the prize- 
list of a lottery. '* Oh " said the master, " tut, tut, I had the 
number just before the lucky one." " And I," growled a small 



184 Singing Round the World. 

printer's ** deil " with a smudge on his nose — " I had the one 
after ! " 

Everything is advertised to death. Political, social, and 
religious meetings are placarded as if money were not the 
slightest object. Loathsome pills and lotions glare in elephan- 
tine letters of white paint on the hoardings. Looking up the 
grand vista of fashionable Montgomery Street, we see " Gin 
Cocktails " stencilled along the curb-stones. The railways puff 
their lines like any tradesman. An enterprising agent, with a 
phenomenally strong accent, scented us out as new arrivals, 
button-holed us, and promulgated the great advantage of taking 
his special railway route — stating also that " he'd fix us up all 
straight," "wouldn't fight shy over heff a dollar," and "would 
be happy to show us any attention while in town." 

A large portion of San Francisco is given over to thousands 
of Chinese, who inhabit what is called China Town. Hundreds 
of Celestials swarm along the pavements, their dark hats and 
dark blue blouses giving a sombre colour to the view, which is, 
however, enlivened by gay paper lamps and ornamental veran- 
dahs. Everywhere we saw wretched haunts, opium dens, and 
gambling resorts — each of them down a flight of stairs, below 
the level of the street, with the prostrate forms of the Chinamen 
seen dimly through the thickly-hanging smoke. In the opium 
dens the torpid Celestials are stowed away two deep on shelves 
— the charge being about " half a dollar a dream ! " Many 
trades are in full swing in China Town, for John appears in one 
place as an industrious butcher, cutting up very scraggy meat 
and dispensing mysterious ** interiors " to the lank-faced custo- 
mers — in another, hard at work pegging shoes — in another 
making cigars, a business he has monopolised to the exclusion 
of white workmen — in another acting as laundryman, ironing 
shirt " bosoms," and anon, after bulging his cheeks with water, 
squirting the liquid in thin spray over the linen. As a Celes- 
tial never goes " on the spree," he is much appreciated by the 
road-contractors and farmers. But the Califomians as a body 
are opposed to the influx of the Celestials. The great questioa 
is, how far will this Chinese flood spread ? It is no joke to 



American Railways. 185 

a reservoir of three hundred million people. The great Repub- 
lic is supposed to welcome every creed and colour, but shows 
considerable reluctance in embracing the Chinaman. In San 
Francisco there is but little observance of the Sunday : drinking 
saloons, ice-cream restaurants, druggists, clothiers, booksellers 
— all kinds of shops are open. The boot-black plies on the 
side-walk. Street cars convey their loads to "Woodward's 
Pleasure Gardens." The newspapers are published as usual, 
and are for sale in the hotels. The streets throng with idlers, 
while numbers are whirling off to pic-nics. At night the opera- 
house, theatre, and music-hall are open ; while now and then a 
lively brass band parades the street Yet there is no lack of 
churches, some of them with good congregations. 

We crossed the bay to Oakland, the popular suburb of San 
Francisco. The town owesits name to being situated in a 
grove of evergreen oaks. The railway, as in most American 
towns, runs up the middle of the street, with occasional wooden 
platforms for passengers dropping off here and there through 
the city. Vehicles drive calmly across the track of an advanc- 
ing engine, and boys skip playfully almost under the shadow 
of its large funnel. The locomotive is a domesticated monster; 
the American has metaphorically taken it to the bosom of his 
family. Railways are well managed in America. There is not 
the jamming at a small window to purchase your ticket a few 
minutes before the train starts. You can engage your sleeping- 
berths as if you were going on a sea-voyage, and buy your 
ticket a day or two beforehand, if you like, at one of the vari- 
ous agencies scattered through every large town. Neither do 
you have to look vigilantly after your luggage, thanks to the 
"checking" system. On the other hand, in no part of the 
world will your trunks receive worse handling than on an Am- 
erican railroad, for the porters pitch them about as if they were 
made of cast-iron. Experienced travellers carry trunks that 
look as if they were armour-plated. One box of ours was to- 
tally destroyed here in a single journey. The sides were 
" caved in " the top broken, the bottom split, the fragments 
IkM topet^ier b^ a skeletc*" Tork of roping — so 



1 86 Singing Round tlie World, 

ruined, in fact, that we immediately gave it to the hotel 
for firewood. 

San Jos^, the most beautiful town in the State of Califomiac^ 
lies in the Santa Clara valley, fifty miles south of San Fran— ^ 
Cisco. As you arrive, the train for a long distance slowly*^- 
" tolls " its way down a narrow, winding lane of fragrant — 
orchards, with the fruit hanging thickly on each side of the " 
cars, almost within reach of the hand. Truly it is the " Garden 
of California." The thoroughfares are roads lined with trees^ 
which relieve the staring appearance of the streets. The 
Mexican element, noticeable all over California, is very strong 
in San Jos6. Mexicans ride about the streets on their mus- 
tangs. At the hotel, too, there were Mexican waiters, — sallow- 
faced, moustached fellows, who looked far too picturesque for 
restaurant business, spoke in broken English, and darted about 
as if in prosecution of a vendetta, fiercely and fierily reciting 
the bill of fare : — " Beef, mutton, pork-an'-beans, *stooed * toma- 
toes, veal, tongue, fried-brains-in-crumbs, corned beef, tea, coffee 
— which?" threatening us thus with a long list of viands. 
There is quite a mixture of nationalities here, as was shown 
once in a funny way ; for, happening to be in an ironfoundiy» 
we heard the foreman suddenly call out, " Ueau Teau, aqua 
aqua, wasser wasser — water, you beggars, hurry up ! " 

During our Sundays in San Francisco and San Josd, there 
were good opportunities of hearing American psalmody. One 
showy church left all the service of praise to the salaried voca- 
lists, each of whom stood behind a music-stand upon an opeo 
platform. When the garish organ had concluded a showy 
voluntary, the choir of four stood up and rendered a florid 
anthem. Another church had a choir, numbering about one 
dozen, which sang several elaborately-set hymns and one or 
two anthems like those in vogue during the palmy days of R 
A. Smith, — the accompaniment consisting of organ, comet, and 
flute ! Then the congregation, led by the choir, sang a hymD 
to one of the characterless melodies that are the bane of Ame- 
rican psalmody. The amount of feeble church-music that ob- 
tains in the land, the musical " pap," the adaptations of this and 



Ameriean Churches. i&j 

Iba^ and the weak original anthems without end are something 
■wonderful Though the pride that prompts a cultivation of 
"home-made" music is pardonable, yet an abolition of all such 
inane works as " Angel Harps," " Celestial Strains," " Golden 
Lyres," " Heavenly Pearls," " Lutes of Zion," and an introduc- 
tion of solid intelligent psalmody, substantial alike in words 
and music, would be a great boon to the churches of America. 

The tendency of the Americans is to secularise. The Con- 
gregational Church at Sacramento is used through the week as 
a public hall for respectable entertainments and public meet- 
ings. The Americans have not, like us, the same hallowing 
respect for mere buildings. One San Francisco clei^man, 
whom we knew, used to promenade the principal streets during 
the afternoon smoking a cigar, wearing a coloured necktie, and 
his dress otherwise by no means proclaiming his vocation. 
Being remonstrated with by two of his elders (who, if Ameri- 
cans, must have been more than usually strict), he replied that 
he saw no virtue in a white neck-cloth, no harm in a cigar, and 
"sae the matter ended." 

The Sunday-school is an excellently managed institution in 
America. One school we were in had a large gathering of the 
congregation present The superintendent, in light trousers 
and vest, white coat, and blue necktie, gave out a hymn, and 
told the children to do their best, for " strangers from a foreign 
clime" (Scotland!) "were to listen to their efforts." At San 
Josi the clergyman finished his sermon thus : " Brethern, I 
hope you wont leave now at the end of the service, but stay 
and attend Sunday-school, for I can tell you there's to be a 
rare treat to-day. My Scotch brother, Mr. Kennedy, who is 
DOW making canvass of this country, is to sing and speak to 
the young folks. Our Scotch friends are to sing in this town 
for three nights, too, and I must say they're excellent, for I 
heard them myself in San Francisco, and advise you all to go." 
This looked so unblushing an advertisement that we were 
dumfoundered ; but we afterwards got more into the ways of 
tills original country ! Many of the congregation remained, 
and we were introduced l^ the minister — after which my 



1 88 Singing Round tlu World, 

father spoke a few words to the scholars. Previous to the 
singing of some sacred pieces, or what the minister called 
"** songs " — for everything, whether it be a hymn, glee, duet, or 
trio, is a "song" in America — the clergyman made a little 
speech on the great importance of singing, both in school and 
church, and concluded by stating his belief that "the songs 
sung here below were echoed from the other side of the dark 
flood by those upon the golden shore." The minister, who was 
a big-built man with a strong flow of animal life and spirits, 
and all the appearance of one who lived much in the open air, 
■conducted the singing of the children with great vigour, beat- 
ing time with a wave of his book, occasionally turning his back 
upon the assembly, and walking off*, as if abstracted in the 
sweet thoughts of the words. The performance of one piece 
did not please him at all, and the way he corrected it was 
very characteristic. " Now, children," he cried, stopping them, 
" if your uncle were to give you half a dollar, you wouldn't go 
to your ma and say in a mournful tone of voice, * Ma, there's 
uncle been and given me fifty cents.' No, you'd rush up and 
exclaim, * Ma ! only fancy ! dear Uncle John ! you'll never 
guess what he's gone an' done ! he's ginn me a whole half 
dollar all to myself!' And so you sing as if you only half 
believed it, in this sleepy way " (mimicking the scholars): — 
""*! — loave — to t-e-1-1 the stoary!' when you should shout it 
with your heart and soul," and the minister, with a sweep of 
his book, again started the hymn, the children singing with 
certainly a great increase of enthusiasm. 

Stockton was the hottest place we had visited in California, 
the thermometer at one time registering lOO' in the shade. 
From hence, we went to Sacramento, an enjoyable town, and 
the capital of California, though the population is only a few 
thousands. We saw a great political meeting here. In 
a few weeks there was to be an important election of 
State officials, ranging from senator down to police- 
sergeant. The Democrats were vigorously canvassing 
their "ticket," denouncing the Republicans as having a 
weak "platform," while the latter was equally vehement 



A Political Meeting: 189 

in return. Fire! The street is flooded with a bright glare. 
An immense bonfire flares in the middle of the thoroughfare, 
with scores of boys dancing and shouting round it. Bang, 
bang ! a salvo of cannon is discharged ; whiz, whiz, whiz ! 
rocket after rocket tears through the air. Large election- 
banners are flapping high across the street — a brass band 
mounted at a window plays lustily. All eyes centre on a 
rostrum, arched over by gas-jets in front of a hotel. A tall 
orstor commences a stirring address — the poor American 
eagle being dragged in every few moments in the character of 
a phoenix. The orator shakes his iron-grey hair, stamps, 
waves his arms wildly, and revels in " mud-throwing." The 
speaker creates no more interest amongst the people than if he 
bad been auctioneering diamonds before a crowd of paupers ; 
but the want of excitement is made up by artificial means. 
The brass band strikes up " Yankee Doodle." More wood is 
heaped upon the waning fires — the cannon boom again — blue 
rockets shoot through the sky. Judge Somebody-or-other then 
rises and makes a few remarks — a grey-haired gentleman who 
does the allegorical business, " flag trailing in the dust," " rally 
round the watch-fires," " the old fight," " banner that has waved 
on a thousand (!) battle-fields," etc. He concludes by an 
eloquent address to the opposite side of the street. " Mothers 
of America," this to three ladies on a balcony, who must have 
felt highly flattered) — " Mothers of America, do not, do not, 
do not on any account let your daughters marry Democrats !" 
Then the old Judge bows, a loud rocket goes off" close to his 
ear, the bands plays " Hail, Columbia ! " and the great meeting 
is over. 

From Sacramento we started eastward on the great trans- 
continental journey. The majestic prospects that unfold 
themselves as you come near the " Summit," the great Pass of 
tJie Nevadas — when you look down at one place a depth of 
-over 5000 feet, with the snowy mountains rising 15,000 feet 
^bove sea-level were passed through in the night Luckily, 
"^be moon rose behind the pine-bi' " " ^s of the valleys, 
— sed the gra "■ws — the big 



\ 



190 Singing Round tlu World. 

head-light of the foremost of the two locomotives shinin 
ahead into the darkness, and making the train appear 
writhing glow-worm as it curved along the tortuous ri< 
One wide valley was a red expanse of flame, from an extensive 
fire raging in the forests. 

Next day we journeyed through Nevada, over the alkali 
desert — a dry arid waste, supporting the sage-brush, that seems 
powdered with saline dust — which dust, stirred up by the 
draught of the train, is very irritating to the throat and eyes. 
Stoppages for breakfast, dinner, and tea were made at three 
pretty considerable townships. These railway dining-room 
meals, for which you paid one dollar, were announced by the 
clanging thunder of a gong, always echoed from across the road 
by a feeble bell rung in front of a humble eating-house, where 
you were charged only a quarter of the price. Like most of 
those who travel in parties we had a " lunch-basket " with us, 
filled with good things before we started, and with the help of 
hot tea and coffee sold by pedlars round the train, fresh milk 
sold by little girls, and actually at one place ice-cream purvej^ed 
in tins on a barrow, we fared satisfactorily. 

Night came again, and again we woke to the dry, impressive 
desert, which seemed to be the same spot that had received the 
rays of sunset the night before. At Brigham, named after the 
Mormon leader, we had our first glimpse of the great Salt 
Lake ; and in a short time had reached Ogden, a thriving 
town, backed by massive mountains. A ggng announcing 
breakfast a party of Yankees burst out of our car, shouting : — 
" Hulloa, boys, there's the food-signal ! the grub-sounder ! that 
blessed old hash-hammer again I let's go an' root around ! " We 
had some refreshment here at the railway hotel ; also a talk with 
a man who had just heard of the failure of a certain Californian 
bank. " Here am I," said he, " with a draught on that infernal 
house, far from home, without a rap in the world ! it is enough 
to drive a man mad ! " 

The train for Salt Lake City runs on a single track railroad, 
thirty-seven miles long, made by Brigham Young a short time 
ago. The wily Vermontcr saw that in a few years some one 



Salt Lake City, 191 

would run a line to his city, so thought he might as well be 
that '* some one,^ and exclude any speculating Gentile. A man 
with a ghastly white face and paralysed limbs is carried on a 
stretcher into a sleeping-car. " Mashed up by a haorse ! " ex- 
plains a bystanding Yankee. The train starts for the Mormon 
capital. Soon an expanse of houses, interwoven with shade- 
trees, spread before us — ^the large egg-roof of the Tabernacle 
rising out of a dense plantation in the foreground — the blue 
waters of the Great Salt Lake gleaming on the one hand, and 
on the other the glittering snowy peaks of the mighty Wasatch 
Mountains. 

We took up quarters at a Mormon hotel, the landlord being 
l>lest, or otherwise, with four wives. Outwardly, Salt Lake City 
resembles other American towns. One or two shops, however, 
have the characteristic Mormon sign — a semi-circular line, 
"" Holiness to the Lord " — then below it an eye painted as the 
symbol of Omniscience; and underneath all, these words, 
^ Zion's Co-operative Mercantile Institution." " Buy from your- 
selves — do not trade with the Gentiles," was the command of 
Brigham Young. So these stores sprang up. The unbelievers, 
however, were not starved off the field, but competed success- 
fully with the Mormons. The saints did not care to pay sixty 
<:ents to a co-believer for what the Gentile sold at fifty. The 
Mormon women are attired in tidy print dresses, calico aprons, 
and big sun bonnets. The streets are lined with shade-trees, 
while down each side run full clear streams of water, formed by 
the snow melting from the mountains. 

On Sunday we heard a service in the Tabernacle, which we 
entered along with a crowd of Mormons, whom we could dis- 
tinguish from the strangers by the plainness of their dress. 
One man walked demurely in front of six wives ! The Taber- 
nacle is 250 feet long, 150 feet wide, and the immense curved 
roof supported round the sides by forty-eight stone pillars. 
The space between these columns had been thrown open for 
ventilation. The Mormon men sat on one side of the build- 
ing, the women on the other. The Tabernacle still retained the 
:fioral decorations which had recently been put up in celebra- 



Singing Round the WoriJ. 




tion of the anniversary of the Mormons arriving at Utah 
twenty-eight years aga An enormous chandelier-like struc- 
ture of shrubbery and flowers hung down from the centre of 
the roof, while from the midst of the auditorium played an ele- 
gant fountain, the spray of which cooled the atmosphere. 
Round the building were displayed these mottoes : — " Our own 
mountain home," " Ilcirs of the Priesthood,"' "Brigham, our 
Leader and Friend," " Utah's best crop — children ! " At one 
end of the building stood the large organ, built by one of the 
saints, and close to it a choir of sixty. In front of the singers 
sat the grave and influential leaders among the saints, many of 
them grey-haired and rather un intellectual in appearance. 

After a common-place hymn, a cold prayer was offered up 
by a man who seemed ashamed of what he was doing, and 
mumbled it off in a hurry, the only words we could catch being 
" Bless thy servant Brigham." The " Head of the Church " was 
not present, but a most virulent, yea, ungrammatical address 
was delivered by Orson Hyde, chief among the " destroying 



Address by Orson Ilydc. 193 

angels.'' He seemed to rise, puffini;-, out of the phitforiTi— a 
middle-aged man, with big paunch, small needle-like eyes, light 
hair, very red face, and wearing a white linen dust-coat — a 
clerical Jack-in-the-Box. Rage, ignorance, artificial sanctity, 
and strained enthusiasm were all displayed in his sermon. After 
the manner of Mormon preachers, he was. supposed only to 
speak when the spirit moved him, and took as his text: " They 
shall come from the cast, and from the west, and from the 
north, and from the south, and shall sit down with Abraham, 
and With Isaac, and with Jacob ; but the children of the king- 
dom shall be cast out." Every clause was punctuated with a 
hardy self-congratulatory cough, that struck one as intensely 
ludicrous. 

**Who," he exclaimed, "have come from the east, west, 
north, and south? Have the Roman Catholics? No. 
{A-a-hem !) Have the Baptists ? No. Have the Congrega- 
tionalists ? ( A-a-hem !) No. Who then have, but the people 
that dwellest upon the high mountains? (A-a-hem!) And 
we are the people that dwellest upon the high mountains," 
he triumphantly cried. " The children of the kingdom are the 
unbelievers, and they are striving to overthrow us in these 
latter days (ahem !) but we have come from the east, mid 
irom the west, and from the north, and from the south, and are 
compassed by a wall of fire, which will sweep away the 
enemies (ahem !) of our peace ! " This with a face of concen- 
^tiftted malignity. " The unregeneratc don't believe the end of 
^e world is at hand," said Orson, " but did the antediluvians 
l>elieve Noah ? (Ahem !) No ! Neither shall they believe us. 
But we shall come from the east, and from the west, and from 
the north, and from the south, and dwell in the high places of 
the earth. What is the unbeliever without faith ? He is like 
9 loaf without leaven. When it is baked it can't be eaten. 
It is hard. (Ahem !) It is a brick. But when the yeast is put 
into it, it becomes com-for-ta-ble " (stroking his hands sooth- 
ingly over his stomach). ** We are the bread with the leaven 
in it The Latter-Day Saints shall come from the [?y]east, 
and from the west, and from the north, and from the souths 



194 Singing Round the World* 

and the children of the kingdom shall be cast out Ahem I 
[fiendish]. Amen ! " 

He finished with distorted features. The threads of passion 
seemed all to have been tied into a knot in his face. An 
American sitting before us leaned back and said : " If every 
man in the United States heard this fellow to-day, Mormonism 
would be swept off the face of the earth to-morrow!" In 
connection with the Church there is a large Sunday-school, and 
one can hear the children's voices joining in such lines as 
these : — 

'* Bless Brigham Young, we children pray, 
Thy chosen Twelve in what they say." 

The twelve referred to are the twelve apostles, appointed in 
imitation of the early Church. Again, 

" How bright have been parental hopes 
About what we shall do, 
In rolling on Jehovah's work, 
And helping put it through " (!) 

The eloquence of the last line is purely American. 

This Sunday we went also to a Presbyterian Church — ^a 
5mall, growing congregation. Six years ago there was no 
Scotch Church here. After the service one or two of the mem- 
bers, utter strangers to us, shook hands with us warmly and in- 
troduced themselves, the minister also giving us a friendly 
welcome. On our way home, walking slowly because of tne 
oppressive heat, we passed occasionally a branch Mormon 
chapel, where, through the open door of a small hot room, we 
saw an elder expounding the doctrines of the Church to a crowd 
of proselytes. In the hotel that evening we were confronted 
with the apparition of a female dressed in a green tunic and 
equally verdant pair of " inexpressibles," with her hair thrown 
back in short curls — none other than Dr. Mary Walker! The 
following evening she gave a lecture on Dress, declaring she 
had worn trousers for a long time, and " would think with agony 
of ever resuming petticoats again." 

On Sunday evening Mrs. A., a " Trance Lecturess," appeared 



A ** Trance Lecture ssP 195 

5n the Liberal Institute. The bills stated that Mrs. A. would 
speak on any theme suggested by the audience ; collection, ten 
<:ents, to defray expenses. The hall was filled when we arrived. 
The lecturess, dressed in white, with short ringlets and colour- 
Jess face, was surrounded by half-a-dozen leaders of Free 
Thought in the city. Some subjects being handed in, Mrs. A. 
read them out: "Do we wear clothes in the spirit-world?" 
^ Have you ever been in love, Mrs. A. ? " " Can children enter 
Iieaven without going through the intermediate states?'* 
** Should not the Government take charge of the railways?" The 
last was selected ; but before commencing Mrs. A. leant on the 
liarmonium with closed eyes, falling into a trance, as we sup- 
X>osed, and began to utter in a low voice a prayer to the Spirit 
of Light, Revealer of Mysteries, and Expounder of Truth. It 
'was easy to see that, no matter what the subject had been, the 
^substance of the address would have turned out just the same. 
" Why don't the Government take charge of railways ? Well, 
That's just what we do want to know ! How can we get progress 
^without that's done ? And if we can't have progress we can't 
.^et freedom, and if we can't get freedom we can't get enlighten- 
Vient, and then we'll never soar into the higher spheres of 
infinitude and mysterious occult power, or let our spirits in 
imagination pervade the realms of cerulean bliss, wher& all our 
^oved departed ones dwell. There may be some of them here 
in this hall, though we can't see them. I won't say 
are, and I won't say they ain't What we want is more 
ight The spread of knowledge puts an end to darkness. 
bu see when I turn these paraffin lamps down that all the 
smudges on the glasses are seen, and now when I turn 
up again, all the dirt disappears. Well, that's Light ! 
;*s what information does — it takes away all dirt and dark- 
And what I'd like to see is railways made cheaper and 
r — no more monoplies — no more swindling of the public. 
^That's what everybody's after just now — wanting to swindle. 
Ipolks in Congress, an' folks in the Church, an' folks in business, 
all trying to cheat the public An' if there was more Light, 
, you wouldn't see the gals going an' tight-lacing themselves 



196 Singing Round tJie World. 

as they do. It puts the vitals into half the room they ought 
to occupy, an' the gals fancy their spider waists please the young 
men. I don't want to see a gal cut herself in half like a wasp. 
Yes, an' if there was more Light there would be more belief in 
Spiritualism. Now, PU tell you something about the spirits. 
You can all talk with them if you have sympathetic minds ; but 
it ain't everyone that can be a good medium. Fni pretty good 
at it, and so's some other women I know. But some folks 
ain't born to be mediums any more than some were bom 
to be clergymen. Now, you'll be wondering at me going 
about the country lecturing, an' many people say to me, * Why 
don't you stop at home ? ' Well, I'd be there if I could. As 
you may remember, I got divorced from my husband a little 
while ago. So I've got a young family to keep, an' I am going 
to work for them too. Every woman should work. If you 
don't want to go on your knees and scrub, go and learn the 
telegraph. Be independent. That'll do as much for you as 
Woman's Rights, though that's all very well in its way. That 
cause an' many others is silently working on, and on, and on, 
spreading enlightenment abroad, till sooner or later the whole 
world will be filled with Light. The collection will now be 
taken up." When we got home what with Orson Hyde's 
sermon in the Tabernacle, the goblin in green breeks, and the 
Trance Lecture, we felt oppressed with spiritual nightmare ! 

In Salt Lake City there is a large theatre, which, like the 
Tabernacle, is under control of Brigham Young. The Church 
and the Drama, things sacred and things secular, are all 
managed by the Great Mogul of Utah. Here we saw a New 
York company perform the play of "Divorce," a subject that 
must have been very attractive to the Mormon mind. As the 
crowd was going in we heard the folk saluting each other with 
" Good evening, Brother Brown," " How are you. Sister 
Jenkins ? " and so on. There are two morning papers in the 
city — one Mormon, the other Gentile, and the latter " makes 
things uncommonly hot " for the faithful. There are also one 
evening daily, two semi-weekly, three weekly, four semi-monthly 



Incidents by the Way. 197 

and two monthy publications. Not so bad in this remote com- 
munity of 30,000 inhabitants. 

On the railway platform, as we were leaving, a Scotsman 
said to the stout member of our party: "So yeVe gaun to 
leave us? What way div ye no* stop an* be a Mormon? 
They'd be sure \Jb mak' a deacon o* ye — ^yeVe got sic a graund 
belly on ye !" Inside the car we met a decent, middle-aged 
Scotchwoman. She was a Mormon, spoke volubly in favour of 
Mormonism, but did not believe in polygamy so far as it 
affected herself She was very expert in the use of Scriptural 
texts. Said we, ** Every deacon shall be the husband of one 
wife." ** Yes,** she replied, "of one wife at least!*' In San 
Francisco we had been favoured with a visit from Elder 
Stenhouse, who was, till very lately, one of the chief spirits 
amongst the Mormons. During his stay at Salt Lake he was, 
I believe, a man of sound faith and honest in his exertions in 
favour of polygamy ; but he latterly saw and heard enough to 
open his eyes to the errors of the Church. So he and his good 
lady shook the dust of the desert from their shoes and bade 
adieu to Utah. At Omaha, again, we were acquainted with a 
Highlander who in the early days was converted to 
Mormonism, who left a snug situation in Dundee, came over 
the Atlantic, and settled amongst the Saints on the banks of 
the Missouri River, where Omaha stands to-day, but where 
there was then not the slightest indications of that now grow- 
ing city. For a time things went 'quietly, but the scales soon 
fell from his eyes, and, in Highland rage, he abjured the 
Mormon faith. Time and again he stood on the banks of the 
river, at the peril of his life, and preached against Mormonism 
to the bands of converts as they passed over to the new 
settlement 

Leaving Ogden, the train came upon the wild scenery of the 
Rocky Mountains, travelling through canons of startling gran- 
deur. The DeviFs Gate was a cleft in a gorge, violently broken 
through by a white foaming river. Farther on came the Devil's 
Slide, two parallel walls of rock a short distance apart, running 
down the whole face of the gorge. In Weber Caiion the train 



198 Singing Roimd the World, 

was compressed within fierce rocky jaws, the narrowness of XJ^^^^^ 
defile such that there scarcely appeared room for both the w^s-^*^ 
torrent and the single track of rail. Here we passed the Thor ^^^^ 
sand Mile Tree, which is that distance from Omaha, our far-c^:::^^5 
terminus. Then we plunged into Echo Cafion, with its fantastic- ^^^ 
isolated rocks, called Castle Rock, Tower Rock, Sentinel Roc^^ *» 
and Pulpit Rock, from their supposed resemblance to thes^^^^ 
objects. The Pulpit Rock, however, has some substantial claio^ ^ 
to its title, as it is said that from here Brigham Young delivesec^^^ 
his first sermon in the Rocky Mountains. Here, too, on the top^^*^* 
of the precipices, are the fortifications erected by the Mormon^^^* 
when once threatened by a visit from United States troops, an 
from whence they intended to hurl masses of rock upon 
enemy. Amongst all this spirit of imposing scenery dwells the 
spirit of Yankee advertising. Admiring a high peak, our eyes 
rested on " Dyspepsia Pills " — falling into raptures over a deep 
ravine, we were shocked with " Vinegar Bitters " — meditating '^ 
on the grand vista of precipices, we were told nothing equalled ^ 

the "Patent Horse Oil" — and while noticing the beautiful 
eflfects of light and shade, we were suddenly called upon to 
**Try the rising Sun Stove Polish ! " A stoppage ! All around 
is the lonely prairie. The engine-driver leaps off, with a tin can 
in his hand, and makes a "bee-line" for some spot on the 
nearer rising ground. The conductor follows ; then an eager 
crowd of passengers, with bottles, pannikins, jugs, tumblers, 
" pocket-pistols ; " and, snatching up a cup, we join the throng 
that gathers round a soda spring ! 

Next day we travelled through Nebraska — the real boundless 
prairie. We heard the startling news that the train preceding 
ours had been robbed. The train that gave us this information 
had been in a terrific hailstorm a few miles west of Omaha. 
The hailstones were three or four inches thick, and wrecked the 
train, the "cars" having to be brought to a dead stop. On the 
third day from Ogden we arrived in Omaha, The distance from 
San Francisco is 1,914 miles, accomplished in four days and six 
hours. There still lay 1,454 miles between us and the Atlantic, 
New York being an eight days* journey of 3,368 miles from San 



Chicago, 199 

Trancisco. The mind almost fails to ^rasp the expanse of 
<:ountry traversed by the locomotive, that great railway shuttle, 
xiow weaving civilisation across the desert 

Omaha is prettily situated on hilly ground, and past it roll 
the sullen, (£^., muddy) waters of the Missouri River. We 
'went east by the Chicago and North- Western Railway. The 
speed of the train, an " express," was greater than that on the 
long Pacific line and reached perhaps thirty miles an hour, the 
^92 miles to Chicago being run in twenty-two hours. The 
journey was rough, the road-bed being very much impaired by 
recent destructive storms. The bridges were crossed at quarter 
speed — a precaution by no means unnecessary, as the train 
that followed us fell through one of these bridges into a river. 
At Clinton, a large flourishing town, we crossed the equally 
muddy Mississippi. As the saying is, "I guess when you 
swaller this water you've got to shet yer eyes ! " 

Chimney-stalks appearing through lake-mists and smoke — 
Iiigh gables of warehouses, frequent bridges across the line, 
and noisy trafGc of vehicles that ran close alongside the train 
— ^impressed us with the fact that Chicago was at hand. The 
^epot was reached, and like most stations in Western America 
*^ras an uncomfortable, plain wooden structure. We are con- 
"Veyed in an omnibus to the hotel, where one of us " registers " 
"the names in the office-book, under the eye of the clerk, who 
lias a self-complacent look and the air of only temporarily 
filing the position till the real clerk arrives. 

Rumble, rumble, bing, bang, bong, bizzera, bizzera, cr-r-rash I 

"^vhizzera, whizzera, boo-00-oom ! The dinner gong ! So we 

siaturally gravitate towards the dining-room. The head waiter 

'Ushers us into a large banqueting-hall, where two or three 

liundred persons are assembled. The floor is occupied by 

:numbers of detached tables, and the waiters are "darkies." 

^t a table adjoining ours sit a husband and wife, accompanied 

ly an infant scion of their house mounted on a high chair. 

TTie child yearns for this and that with a tone which is a 

compound of a whine and a command : — " Ma, ma, say ma, 

xna, say ma ; " and the father remarks, " Well, bub, and what's 





200 Singing Round tlie World, 

the matter, eh?" Then the youthful gormandiser continu^^^^ 
^* Say, ma, pessme the vinegar for my fish, will you — an* wher* ^^^ 
the waiter ? I want to order some corned pork — an* will t-^::^^^^ 
apple dumpling be good, do you think, ma?" Involuntari^^""^ 

we hear the order given by a gentleman sitting near us : '"^ 

" Bring me fried smelt, roast mutton an' jelly, keff head, poi^t- *" 
an' beans, squash, mashed turnips, boiled rice, tomatoe^^^^ 

potatoes, an' a cup o' coffee !" — the lady beside him adding:-- 

** The same for me !" 

Our waiter comes at last with a loaded tray of dishes, an(^ ^ 
covers the table with them. Each guest has a separate set o '^^"^ 
plates — a whole constellation of small dishes revolving rouni 
your meat-plate, as the central sun. Though we onl] 
numbered seven of a party, our table was covered with actuall; 
one hundred dishes ! 

The hotel drawing-room is a large elegantly-carpeted apart- 
ment, sumptuously furnished Round the room sit various 
parties of ladies and gentlemen conversing ; a lady sits at the 
piano and sings a sentimental song. Every American lady who 
lives at a hotel is thus constantly leading a public life ; and this, 
combined with a natural freedom, gives her a great ease of 
manner. Most of those present are regular boarders, for the 
hotels arc not kept up altogether by travellers, but also by 
persons who rent suites of rooms for a month or two, or by the 
year. Many married couples make a home in the hotel, and 
thus free themselves from the care of keeping house. But 
what do the children know of domestic life, as they play about 
the dreary corridors of these large buildings? What does the 
mother herself know, relieved from all household duties, taking 
shopping for exercise, or rocking herself in her chair, yawning 
away the dull hours between meals — no cooking to see after, 
no rooms to tidy up, not even the luxury of knowing that she 
is providing for her husband's comfort? What a penalty to 
pay for ease and luxury ! The hotel-ladies, I am persuaded, 
must shorten their days through ennui. 

Chicago impressed us with its substantial appearance 
The whole heart of the city is one mass of grand 



C/iiCcTC'O. 201 

<?diriccs, all erected since the crrcat fire. As a citv, it is csscn- 
tially commercial. The eye wearies after a while of mercantile 
palaces. 

All this time we had been cultivating the acquaintance of 
the Western Yankee. The Yankee " down East " is said to be 
a more refined individual than his pioneering brother "out 
West" The Eastern man "calculates," the Western man 
""guesses" — ^both "reckon" more or less. The first thing a 
Britisher remarks is the peculiar twang of the American, and 
3us orthographical errors. Of course one can hardly regard it 
as a deadly sin for the Yankee to speak of duty as " dooty," to 
say " noan " for none, " deef " for deaf — we even heard a fashion- 
able church-choir sing loudly of the " morning doo " — but why 
<io the Americans allude to a stranger from the other side the 
^ Pond " as having the fault of speaking with a strong 
£nglish accent The Americans are practical, shrewd, some- 
times playfully irreverent, childishly sensational, fond of look- 
ing at the startling side of things, and rather " hail-fellow-well- 
met " to a person who has not lost the conventional ideas of 
the old country. The American woman is homely (and of 
<:ourse I do not use this word in its Yankee signification of 
•• ugly.") She is always dressed neatly and precisely, whether 
she be resident of a suburban villa or " help" in a boarding- 
Iiouse. Some American women, on the other hand, are ex- 
^:eedingly bouncing in their ways — dress as if dying to be seen 

^talk with great volubility, and with a dry, incisive tone, as if 

they always had something important to say, and the whole 
Xvorid should listen. 

A journey of 284 miles brought us from Chicago to Detroit, 
%Jie cleanest, neatest town we had so far seen in the States. 
-Across the Detroit River we saw the welcome shores of 



N 



202 Singing Round t/te World. 



CHAPTER XVI. 



Crossing into Canada — Toronto^Niagara — Winter life in Ontario — SIei| 

Journeys — Kingston —Ottawa — Montreal — Tobogganing — ^The Ice ShoTe-^=*-^ 
Quebec 




This splendid river was formerly the terminus of the "Under» 
ground Railway," as they called the American society tha-^^" 
aided slaves in their escape to the true " soil of freedom," anc^ ^^ 
across the green rolling waters many a dusky fugitive found::^ ^ 
his way. Even at this present time there are runaways whcc^^ ^^ 
cross this river into Canada, but they are brazen-faced Yankee^^^^^ 
with carpet-bags — fraudulent bankrupts, swindlers, and^^^^^ 
embezzlers. Our train, locomotive and all, moved on board a -^^ 
large transfer steamer. We reached Windsor, the Canadian ^^ 
town, whence a train started for Toronto. The guard, or ^"^ 
" conductor," was a Scotsman, and we had a long " crack " with 
him about the mother-country. The journey of 223 miles was 
very enjoyable. By evening we near our goal, and see the 
moonlight glinting on the waves of Lake Ontario. Toronto is 
reached ; the " Queen's Hotel " bus is at the station, and in the 
elegant homeliness of this fine house we are soon installed. 

We are delighted to find ourselves in a community so 
strikingly British. We could almost have hugged the very 
British policeman as his solid tread shook the sidewalk. We 
felt inclined to shake hands with every one we met Even the 
National Anthem, though played by a brass band, was the 
sweetest music to our ear. 

Less than one hundred years ago, Toronto was an Indian 
village ; forty years ago, the " muddy little city of York." It 
has grown with the development of farming, and has now 
60,000 inhabitants. Opposite the city stretches a long island, 
and the sheet of water it encloses is called Toronto Bay. 
Beyond stretches Lake Ontario, far away to the horizon. The 
city rises in a gentle slope from the lake shore. Most of its 



Toronto. 203 

public buildings are commanding, and the streets alive with 
traffic. There are many English in Toronto, and many Scotch. 
There being a strong Irish element here, the Roman Catholics 
are numerous and bold — all the bolder because of the 
supremacy of the hierarchy in Lower Canada. My brothers 
and I witnessed a serious riot here. A number of " pilgrim- 
ages," or processions from one chapel to another, had been 
ordered. One Sunday the "pilgrims" were attacked by a 
mob, and had to fight their way from street to street The 
military were called out The police advanced to clear the 
street — the crowd fired at them. There was a desperate close 
encounter, with sticks beating about in every direction, and 
stones hurtling through the air. The police levelled their 
revolvers, and for a full minute there was a succession of shots. 
Stones fell crashing upon the fences close by us. We noticed 
a stunned policeman taken in through the lower window of a 
house ; he had been violently felled by a big stone. No one 
had been wounded by bullets ; most of the pistols, I fancy, 
were discharged in the air. Many arrests were made, and the 
rioters sentenced to various terms of imprisonment. The affair 
was looked upon as a blot upon the hitherto fair fame of this 
respectable community. 

Leaving Toronto, we had a railway ride of forty miles to 
Hamilton, and from there we went to Niagara. The Canadian 
town of Clifton is two miles below the Falls, and thence we 
walked along the high banks of the Niagara River. Woe to 
any. carriage that goes over here, for horse and vehicle will fall 
crashing through the foliage, sheer to the river. Private enter- 
prise has nailed boards on seyeral of the trees : " Man fell over 
the cliff hear," "A cow went over her," and other misspelt but 
philanthropic notices. 

At a turn of the road we had a distant first view of the Falls, 
with their overwhelming presence, power, and ocean-roar. We 
went as near them as we could get — gazing at them for a long 
time, with their thunder shaking the rock beneath our feet and 
quivering the iron railing in our grasp. The Horse-Shoe Fall 
Is tmnendous. The waters me ''ntre from the con- 



204 Sijigifig Round the World. 

verging sides of the Fall, and through the clouds of spray y<^"^'^ 
have glimpses of a far-in turmoil of waters. The Americgg ^^ ^^ 
Fall is a somewhat lesser body of water than the Horse-Sho^^:::^ ^ 
from which it is separated by the sylvan Goat Island. You haw^-*"^^ 
a sense of the loftiness and grandeur of the Falls in thc^-^^ 
apparently leisurely way the water descends. Nowhere, in ^ * 

general view of the Falls, have you the idea of impetuositjt--* ^' 
Not till you go beneath them do you realise their rush an^ ^^^^ 
irresistible power. 

My brothers and I, clad in oilskins, went under the Falls;^^ ^^ 
We had a darkie with us as guide — an intelligent fellow, whcc:^ ^ 
took an unaffected interest in the various sights. Few othei^- 
natural exhibitions could have kept a man's mind fresh in the* 
midst of a daily routine. Wc descended a wooden spiral stair- ^ 
case, half-way down which there is a small window, command- "^ 
ing a view unsurpassed from any other standpoint You are 
close to the outer edge of the Horse-Shoe Fall. The giant 
crescent of the cataract shoots out from the overhanging ledge 
high above you, and swooping down in a splendid arc against 
the sky, shatters itself in foam upon the rocks. 

We were startled to see that we had to walk on little ledges 
like bricks, scarcely bigger than the foot. A heavy gale was 
raging, and the gusts blew the water down uppn us in violent 
paroxysms. Wc had to turn our faces to the oozy wall, and 
literally gasped for breath. Sometimes the guide knew when 
the shift of wind was coming, and waving his hand, for one 
could not have heard a word, he warned us of the impending 
deluge. Amid increasing spray, noise, and lessening daylight, 
we cautiously rounded a dangerous abutment of rock, and 
arrived at the farthest point that any one has yet reached. We 
stood in the eerie twilight of a liquid-roofed cavern, resounding 
with thrilling sounds and echoes. A stormy sky of clouds, with 
all its rain, mist, and thunder, seemed to be flying down over 
our heads, loosened from its place in the heavens — the sonorous 
sound it had in falling being exchanged for a sharp cry of pain 
as the water smote the rocks. 

" Kerridge, sir ? " '* Have your photograph with the Falls 



A'idfj^drci Fit! Is. 205 

backc;round ? " "Won't you ^l;o an' sec the live burfaloes ? *' 
"Step into my museum, gentlemen, free of charge?" " Oil- 
skins, sir?" "Nick-nacks?" "Indian beadvvork?" "Kerridge, 
kerridge, kerridge?" Cabmen, pedlars, and touters thronged 
about us, and distracted our thoughts from the glorious music 
welling up trom the liquid precipices of Niagara. The season 
being almost over, the appearance of visitors was the signal for 
universal excitement. Waxing rash with competition, a cab- 
man volunteered to drive the whole of us back to Clifton for 
"heff a dollar." Getting no encouragement, he hurriedly 
wheeled his cab round, and swore : " Blank, dash, smash, and 
double-darn me, may you all be dog-tired afore you get home!" 
And shaking his whip over his head, he drove away in wrath- 
Another " cabbie " adopted a different tone, urging us plain- 
tively to " let him make somethin' out of us." We crossed to 
Luna Island, which overhangs the American fall like a mass .of 
earth arrested on the brink of the abyss. Here you almost 
look down the face of the Falls, and can put your foot into the 
curve of the water as it pours over the brink. One's indi- 
viduality is swallowed up in the falling waters ; you feel in the 
fascination of the moment, as if you were going down with 
them over the giddy verge. 

Our next purpose was to see the Whirlpool Rapids. The 
water, after seething round the base of the Falls like boiling 
froth of milk, flows tranquilly for two miles. Then, passing 
under the Clifton Suspension Bridge, where the trains roll 
across at a height of 250 feet, the mighty river is compressed 
into a narrow channel, with a very marked decline. You go 
down a wooden shaft and come upon a small platform, level 
with the rapids. The water dashes past with terrible speed, 
the waves tumbling and crashing together, with raging surge, 
and flying round in great swirls — the involution and con- 
volution almost turning the mind yellow with vertigo — till the 
stormy river, hurling immense logs at railway speed, empties 
itself headlong into the whirlpool. The latter was a maze of 
swirling eddies writhing and drawing everything towards them 
with their glassy suctioa Masses of driftwood formed the 



2o6 Sifio;i}ij^ Round the World. 



'i> *"«:> 



rim of the central vortex, while huge trunks of trees 
swept round in great velocity, pitched out of the water, and 
tilted end over end in the mighty throes of the conflictinj 
currents. Round the green waters of this basin circled a 
lovely amphitheatre — on every side rising the steep banks of the 
river clothed with forest trees. Pine, fir, maple, and oak were 
to be seen gay in all the hues of autumn — red, yellow, brown, 
purple, and orange — the whole one gorgeous mass of variegated 
colour, like an immense natural bouquet, and contrasting "- 
strangely with the turmoil it encompassed. 

On our second visit the sky was bright, and the Falls looked 
dazzling under the clear sunshine. The spray rose in a well- 
defined, luminous cloud, mounting up one thousand feet into 
the air, and a fine double rainbow, arching the foaming 
cauldron, added a new charm to the scene. Such was our last 
look at Niagara. 

Autumn appears in her fullest loveliness in Canada, after 
which comes the lovely Indian summer, a tranquil remin- 
iscence of summer, without any of its great heat or passion. 
During this season we visited the townships of Southern 
Ontario. At Simcoe we were taken through the Public 
School. 'Some of the pupils were learning algebra, some 
drawing Gothic cathedrals on a black board. The geo- 
graphy class were studying the map of Canada, and a girl 
pointed out the provinces of the New Dominion, not even for- 
getting the newly-added province of Manitoba, in the Great 
North-West Canadian, like other colonial children, have a 
changing geography. In another room a class was being cate- 
chised in grammar. My father asked, ** What part of speech 
would you use if some one put a pin into your shoulder?" 
and the answer came promptly from a wee lassie, ** Fleasci sir, 
an interjection ! " Thursday, 28th October, was Thanksgiving 
Day, when wc happened to be at St Thomas. All the places .. . 
of worship were open. We led the psalmody in the Presbyteluiik - 
rian Church, which was crowded with townsfolk and farma 
who had come in to give thanks for the bountiful harvest 

Our route now embraced London, a city of 169OOO inhaUtao 



Winter in Canada, 207 

and commonly known licrc as London tlic Less, to distinguish it 
from another metropolis of the same name existing somewhere 
in Great Britain ! Here, on the last day of October, there was 
snow to the depth of two inches. A fortnight afterwards there 
was another heavy fall, and from that time afterwards we were 
in full enjoyment of cold weather. A few days later we were 
at Sarnia, which was swept at this time with cold winds, the 
roads as hard and wrinkled as the hide of a rhinoceros. 

Winter is a jolly time of the year in Canada. Deep snow 
has not the paralysing influence on traffic that it has in Bri- 
tain, where thaw is always imminent Snow here is trustworthy 
for weeks, and sleighing means business ; the shopkeepers are 
overjoyed. According to everybody this winter was a " darned 
fizzle." There were two or three days of snow and frost, then 
thaw and slush. All the severity of the winter came in wild 
spurts. There was a " cold snap " the last day of November, 
and the thermometer went far below zero. At this time we 
were in the good city of Stratford, named after the birthplace 
^f Shakespeare. Like that famous place it is situated on the 
River Avon. While the great metropolis, London, has not a 
single street or square named after the immortal bard, they have 
here given him full honour. The divisions of the town have 
been named Hamlet Ward, Othello Ward, Falstaff Ward, and 
so on ; while a little village in the neighbourhood has been 
called Shakespeare. St Andrew's Day was celebrated here by 
the St Andrew's Society. It has been said that to find a true 
Scotsman you must leave Scotland ; and in no part of the world 
will you find more patriotic hearts than amongst the Scottish 
farmers of Canada. 

Gait is a purely Scottish town, and named after the famous 
novelist and biographer of Byron. Most of the people here are 
from the Border counties, James Hogg being instrumental in 
sending out a great many people to this part of Canada, We 
met here a man whose wife was a niece of the Ettrick Shepherd, 
and from whom we heard many interesting facts concerning 
the great poet At the hotel thpre lodged a travelling female 
3gist--a bold-faced, sil* ^ merican woman — who 



2o8 Singing Round tlie World. 

announced on her handbills that she was the seventh daughte 
of the seventh, would recover stolen property, reconcile lovers,^' 
read your planets, and (oh, anti-climax !) cure freckles ! 

At Guelph we assisted at the opening of the new Town HalL 
During the day we saw a party of workmen rolling a lai^e 
barrel into the side-room, where it afterwards burst ** It's for 
the music-folks," said they. " But," we laughed, '* ha, ha ! you 

know we don't " " Oh ! " they replied — '* this is lager beer 

for the band that plays at the ball !" And sure enough, the 
Germanic " brass *' appeared in due course. At another town 
where we gave a concert, the audience commenced applauding 
long before the hour, upon which the grey-haired mayor of the 
town rose up and said, " Gentlemen, it wants twenty minutes to 
the time yet, so I hope, for the credit of the community, that 
you will refrain from that noise ; but, if those folks ain't on the 
platform by eight o'clock. Til see you righted !" Later on, the 
hall became unbearably warm. Ordinary ventilation being im- 
possible, a powerful Scotch voice roared out, " Brak ane or twa 
o' the wundies !" upon which the paternal mayor walked 
majestically across the hall and put his fist through a pane, 
thereby giving his sanction to a more general smash. 

Our first sleigh-ride was from Berlin to Ayr. It was raining 
slightly, though the temperature was at freezing-point The 
shrubs and blades of grass were sticking up through the snow 
like little daggers of ice. The trees were fairly weighed down 
with icicles. We had a queer collection of drivers during these 
sleigh-journeys. First a Dutchman ; then an old man so stiff 
with rheumatism that he had to be lifted into the sleigh, and 
propped up from behind with the luggage. We had another 
old man with one eye, and that very bleared and watery from 
facing the winter blasts. After a " noggin " he got at a way- 
side inn, he became chuckingly communicative — told us how 
he once belonged to Batty 's Circus in England, and constituted 
the entire orchestra himself, playing the "grand ongtrays** and 
*' trick music " on a keyless bugle. Another driver was the 
captain of a lake-steamer, who drove our sleigh that he mi^^ 
get a free ride to see his friends, and who greatly amM> 



A Sleigh-Ridc in a Sk)nn, 209 

with his ludicrous mixture of nautical and equestrian terms. 
Lastly, the whip was wielded by a rich relation of the livery- 
keeper — a Yankee from Ohio, who had come over to Canada 
to enjoy himself. He took the job of driving us so as to have 
some relief from the monotony of life in a country-town, and 
certainly proved himself a lively fellow. He was given out to 
be worth 40,000 dollars, but this did not prevent his jumping 
off the sleigh and executing an elaborate double shuffle in the 
bar of every hotel we came to ! 

One day the sleigh upset over a culvert. There we lay, all 
mixed up with bags, bundles, shawls, and rugs, with the seats 
of the sleigh on top of us. We got extricated at last, shook 
ourselves like dogs, and proceeded to relieve our poor old 
driver, who lay helplessly clutching his whip. A long pro- 
cession of sleighs happened to be passing at the time, and a 
running fire of witticism came from the drivers. A score or 
two of schoolboys also ran after us, and were only repelled by 
a cannonade of " sweeties," which they battled for amongst the 
snow. 

At Listowel we met the brother of Dr. Livingstone, and 

ivere much struck with the strong family resemblance between 

lim and the great traveller. The worst journey we had was 

irom Listowel to Wingham, a stage of twenty-two miles. The 

thermometer stood 20° below zero ; a fierce snowstorm was 

waging. Not a soul was out that could possibly keep indoors. 

The snow was drifting and falling rapidly, and all tracks of 

'vehicles had been obliterated. The horses struggled amongst 

^e great mounds of powdery snow. Dense wreaths swept 

^ong the road ; and though our two vehicles were only three 

yards apart, we were continually losing sight of each other.. 

We were driving in a white night. The cold was awfully 

'bitter. The foam hung from the horses* nostrils in long white 

icicles. The lapels of our great-coats were frozen as hard as a 

Ixiardy and our cheeks were glazed with scales of ice. We 

completely white with snow, like human statues. My 

her Charles, who sat alonf~*''e of me, had two blobs of ice 

"^ like ice-sped could not see till, after 



210 Singing Round the World, 

some difficulty, he got them picked off. Then his left cheek 
became white — ^he was frost-bitten ! Snatching up a handful 
of snow from the buffalo robe, I vigorously rubbed his face till 
the blood began to circulate. All at once he cried, " Look at 
your nose !" but as that was rather a difficult feat in optics, I 
replied, ** What's the matter ?" And he said, " It's as white as 
anything!" So I excitedly rubbed my nose, or rather the 
place my nose used to be, for I could not feel it Then my 
brother's cheek blanched again, and I applied more snow — 
after which my nose became marble, and it had to be polished 
once more. Then his cheek, then my nose — nose, cheek, nose, 
cheek, nose — till a natural hue had set in. At length we 
reached a small hotel, and though only four miles from our 
destination, we all ran in and warmed ourselves — all, except my 
brother and I, who had been frost-bitten. It is not considered 
safe to trust yourself near a fire after such an occurrence, as 
then a swollen ear or nose is apt to turn into an open sore for 
the winter. The driver vowed he " wouldn't go through the 
same again — no, not for a hundred dollars." It is related that 
a Scottish Canadian, on his voyage home to Scotland one 
summer, was found sleeping on deck, when the captain, roused 
him with a caution against sunstroke. " Sunstroke ! " replied 
the Scotsman, with ineffable scorn, " it wad tak a' the sun 
atween here an' Greenock to thaw the Canada frost oot o' my 
head !" And we could almost say it took a week to thaw out 
the awful cold of this journey. 

We always tried to arrive on Saturday at some nice little 
town, where we could spend a quiet Sunday. We generally 
attended the " Scotch Church," which had as a rule a good 
congregation, drawn from the country round. Harmoniums 
and organs are being introduced into a great many of the 
Presbyterian churches. As to the preaching in the country 
districts, you might shut your eyes during the sermon (!) and 
fancy yourself in any small town in Scotland, which, of course, 
is paying the Canadian pulpit a great compliment The 
country ministers here, in their social relation with their flock, 



Canadian Soci:ty. 2 1 1 

exhibit few or no professional airs, and mix freely with the 
people. 

One hears a great deal in Canada of "Jack being as good 
as his master." An old lady from Edinburgh told us of the 
" deplorable state " of society in this respect " Everybody is 
on an equality with everybody else," said she ; " my washer- 
woman's daughter learns the piano ; and last night, at your 
concert, my servant sat alongside of me in a showy dress, with 
her bonnet all done up with white feathers — a thing that would 
not be allowed at home, I'm sure." But the poor body had 
been twenty-three years out from Scotland. We heard, too, of 
how one day a certain ecclesiastical dignitary was driving along 
in his elegant "cutter," when he was met by a Highland farmer 
in a sleigh at a part of the road where the drifts only admitted 
of one vehicle. The clergyman of course thought the farmer 
would give him the track, but as " Donald " sat unrelenting, the 
ecclesiastic rose with great dignity, thinking to end the whole 
matter, and said, " Sir, I am the Lord BisTiop of Mapletown." 
^ And I," said the farmer, rising with Highland pride, " I — am 
Toogal MacTToogal of Boska-sho-sho-nee!" Upon which the 
two sat face to face, glaring at each other, with what result is 
not known to history. 

Among the favourite winter-sports of Canada is that of horse- 
xacing, and of course the reader will be surprised, as we were, 
"to hear of such a thing. Every town or village that boasts its 
3ake or river has a ready-made race-course in the winter-time. 
The Canadians, like the Americans, go in for trotting-matches, 
9nd the horses' shoes are frosted specially for the event In 
^wie village we saw the races taking place in the middle of the 
street At Barrie, a considerable town on Lake Simcoe, we 
liad an opportunity of being " on the turf," for there were races 
Taking place on the ice. Imagine the "thimble and pea," the 
•* card-trick," and other bare-faced swindling, with the tempera- 
ture at zera There were some hundreds of folks on the ice, 
and they moved about trying to look as happy as possible. 
The '^favourite*' colour seemed to be blue fRhnut^ the nose). In 

rtOy* tired 'le various 



212 Singing Round t/te World, 

" heats," which sounded h'ke a mockery to one's cold limbs and 
pinched faces. 

Once there happened to be races near a little village we were 
at. We had arranged beforehand for rooms at the hotel, but 
on arriving, found that the landlord, in the fever of unusual 
business, had let his apartments to the first comers. Therefore 
we had to put up with limited accommodation in another house. 
The hotel was filled with dense pungent smoke from the stoves, 
and from the scores of pipes and cigars. The bar-room 
swarmed with drunk, disorderly men, and the narrow, creaking 
stairs were blocked with people. The rooms were so small that 
our larger luggage had to remain outside in the passage. The 
sitting-room was full of lads and lasses, who were looking out 
on the tumult in the village. Sleighs were tearing wildly up 
the street — at one time a drunken fellow, with a maddened 
horse and a heavy sleigh, dashing into another vehicle, and up- 
setting its occupants into the snow. Now and again, with 
warning whoop and yell, a horse and jockey flew past There 
was incessant noise in and about the hotel. At night we had 
a good tea, for, as the hostess said, she had " put out her best 
licks " for us. About eleven o'clock, just as we went to bed, a 
dance was started, and we could scarcely snatch a wink. Our 
room was so frequently invaded by roving fellows " wanting a 
sleep," that Robert and I had to barricade the door with a 
portmanteau. All through the " silent watches " a steady thud 
of feet came from below, like the rumble of a flour-mill. In the 
morning Robert discovered that his watch-chain had disap- 
peared, and an ineffectual search was made over the hotel. 
Just before breakfast there were a series of fights in the bar, 
and a bevy of drunk men were taken off to the lock-up. All 
around, in the lower rooms of the hotel, lay broken legs of 
chairs and lengths of stove-pipe, with which the inebriates had 
belaboured each other. The sofas, too, had had their backs 
wrenched off by the revellers, so as to make two beds — one man 
lying on the couch and the other reposing on the back. We 
found the dining-room door locked, and the landlady guarding 
it to keep out stragglers ; also taking money from each one as 



1)1 a S)ioicston)L 213 

tlicy came out. " We've been very quiet, considering^," saiel she ; 
** I heard they had some fighting at the other hotel ! " Right 
glad were we to escape from the confusion. We never saw 
anything like it before or since. 

Christmas day found us at the village of Mount Forest. On 
New Year's Day we visited Southampton, a busy port on Lake 
Huron. Then we returned to Toronto, and went east to Belle- 
ville by the Grand Trunk Railway, which stretches through the 
vast provinces of Ontario and Quebec. A fierce snowstorm was 
raging at Belleville. We had to sleigh twenty-two miles 
to Picton, across the Bay of Quints. The ice was very 
dangerous, owing to the rainy weather of a few days previously. 
The landlord of the Picton hotel, and the livery-stable keeper, 
who acted as guide, both went ahead in a little sleigh — next 
came our party of eight, a heavy load for the risky ice — the 
rear being brought up by the luggage. The shore faded, and 
we were alone amidst the swirling snow. A blast of snow 
would now and then rend the veil of snow, when we sighted a 
headland, or some little bush stuck in the ice to mark the track. 
Only thus could our guide take his bearings, for the opposite 
shore was not visible till long after. The livery-man did not 
like the journey at all, and every few minutes cried back in a 
dissuasive tone, " What do you think of Picton now, boys ? " — 
the answer coming prompt and decisive, " Must get to Picton 
to-day I " At last, almost smothered beneath a gust of snow, 
the sleighs pulled up. The livery-man, with a white cloth ban- 
daged over both ears, and looking like an hospital patient, 
jumped off his seat, and tramped savagely round and round 
about amongst the whirling snow, shaking his whip and vowing 
he " couldn't lay salt on that blamed track nohow." As we had 
never been following any track whatever, we wondered at his 
vexation, but he told us he wanted to find the track so as to 
keep off it I A loaded dray had gone through the ice a few 
days previously, and a father and son were drowned. " If I 
follow the tracks," said our guide, " Til get into some of these 
holes. The surface ice began to break up, and the sleigh kept 
sinking through the friable crust The livery-man hastily came 



214 Singing Round the World, 

to our sleigh and unharnessed one of the two horses, hitching 
it to the back of his conveyance — adding, " I want to save one 
good horse at any rate if we get into a hole — ^the sleigh can 
float/' After an hour's winding about in the storm we " landed" 
with grateful hearts. 

Here we found the cross-roads totally choked up. A wall of 
snow extended flush from fence to fence, five feet deep at least 
Then we went in a body to the fence, and made a gap for the 
sleighs to go through. From field to field we went, breaking 
in and breaking out through the "snake" fences. It was very 
fatiguing work, the heavy bars being firmly cemented together 
with ice. While going through a break in a fence the luggage 
"sleigh sank through the ice into a ditch. Smash I went the 
swingle-bars ; splash I went the horses, floundering violently, 
and sending up spouts of mud. The poor beasts were unhar- 
nessed, while one of the drivers went over the bleak fields to 
get fresh swingle-bars at a neighbouring farm-house. Here, 
too, the ladies were housed till matters were righted. We took 
the luggage out, prised up the sleigh with fence-bars, and then, 
with a combined pull, got it out of the ditch^-our legs chilled 
to the bone from standing in the icy-cold water. It was with 
great thankfulness that we sighted Picton. The twenty-two 
miles had occupied five and a half hours. On nearing the town 
we met the mail starting for Belleville, but it had not gone far 
when it turned back. Our obstinacy in making the journey 
was rewarded by our having to re-advertise the concert, as the 
inhabitants could scarce credit that we had travelled in such 
weather. 

Kingston was our next point, i6o miles east of Toronto, and 
about half way between that city and Montreal. Kingston lies 
on Cataraqui Bay, just where the Cataraqui River mingles its 
waters with the great Ontario, and at the foot of which lake 
the town is situated. Kingston is one of the oldest cities in the 
Dominion, and at one time was the capital of Canada. On 
various points of the bay are planted Martello towers, which if 
not useful for defence, arc exceedingly picturesque. Kingston 
stands on a foundation of bluestone rock, of which the houses 



Ottawa. 215 

are built, giving them an appearance of massiveness and strength. 
The streets have an old-settled look, and the public buildings 
are as fine as those of any other town of 15,000 inhabitants I 
have ever seen. 

From the ancient capital of Canada we went to Ottawa, the 
new capital, and the seat of the Dominion Parliament. Ottawa 
lies on the river of the same name. The Parliament Buildings 
are the pride of the city, and are the most sumptuous and costly 
of the kind on the American continent We visited the 
Chaudiire Falls, a mile and a half from the city. The river, 
after rushing through nine miles of rapids, narrows its channel, 
and falls forty feet into a boiling chasm, the Big Kettle. Here 
there is a deep cleft, the Devil's Hole, into which a large por- 
tion of the river mysteriously disappears. We saw the Falls 
during strong frost, the water frozen to the very edge of the 
descent The rising spray, too, had gradually hardened into a 
wall in front of the cataract Ottawa does an enormous trade 
in lumber, and its woodyards are a sight to see. The lumber- 
ing or tree-felling takes place 250 and 300 miles up, in the 
forests on the Ottawa river. The logs are floated down in 
immense rafts, often as far as Quebec, a distance of 1200 miles 
from the lumber region, taking six months on the passage. In 
the vicinity of Ottawa wc met a large number of Kennedys, 
distant relatives of ours. They own a farm, and are very 
musical. During our visits the party assembled was numerically 
strong enough to attempt oratorio choruses, and pleasant hours 
were thus spent 

In January of 1876 we visited Montreal, and Saw the frozen, 
snow-covered St Lawrence, the colossal Tubular Bridge, the 
Mountain, with its timbered and white-sprinkled sides, rising 
behind the city. The streets were fat with snow. Vehicles of 
all kinds were gliding swiftly along, with gorgeously-lined fur- 
robes floating out behind them, while the air was filled with 
the tinkling of the bells, that echoed from the stately buildings 
on either hand. Now a sombre procession of nuns would wend 
its way along. Now a snow-shoe club in Indian file, in 
picturesque grey blanket coat, red sash, knickerbockers, scarlet 



2i6 Singing Rotuid the World, 

stockings, moccasins, and a Uiquc bleue with red tassels 
Presently they would make a " bee-line " over hill and dale, 
jumping fences and ditches, and going "on the double "with 
many a shout and whoop. 

Montreal is the commercial capital of Canada, and has a 
population of 125,000, half of whom arc French. Your Scotch 
friend, in the middle of " Hoo's a' wi* ye?" breaks off to say 
^^ Bon jour /" to a passing Frenchman. Under the guidance of 
our indefatigable friend Colonel S., we made acquaintance with 
" Moosoo " in his own district, which lies principally at the east 
end of the city. Nothing to be seen but French shops and 
French names — nothing spoken but French. The streets were 
alive with sleighs, the drivers uttering many a " sacri^ It was 
one of those French hackmen that the old Scotch lady 
addressed on first landing in the country : — " Man, what'll ye 
tak tae hurl ma kist up to Lasheen?" — the '' Parbleu !** of the 
astonished driver wringing from the good woman the exclama- 
tion : — " Eh, mercy ! what's to become o' me? the fowk here 
dinna understaun* plain English !" 

The St. Lawrence being frozen, dozens of sleighs were cross- 
ing. Any one who sees in summer its broad current alive with 
shipping, would scarcely believe that in a few weeks it would 
be a firm highway for horses and vehicles. When a certain 
noble lord visited Montreal, he refused to cross the frozen river, 
not deeming such a thing possible. So his friends drove him 
over in a sleigh without telling him. When half-way, he asked 
what the level expanse of snow was, and they replied it was a 
common. " A common," repeated his lordship — " splendid ! 
that magnificent stretch of country would do credit to any 
town in England!*' We walked upon the river, and came 
upon a party of men cutting ice, none of the blocks less than 
three feet thick. The view from the river was striking and 
comprehensive. Along the shore stretched the long unbroken 
quay of masonry that forms one of the wonders of this great 
centre of commerce. The entire city-front is an extensive pan- 
orama graced by spires and domes. 

Mount Royal, or Mont Real, named by Jacques Cartier in 



Mount RoyaL 217 

153s, is an abrupt volcanic hill, wooded to its summit, and 400 
feet high, though it appears much loftier. The mountains 
around here are said to have been old when the Alps and 
Himalayas were at the bottom of the sea. The Colonel, with 
his accustomed kindness, arranged with a party of friends to 
visit the mountain. When the time arrived, a large concourse 
of vehicles occupied St James' Street The back of the moun- 
tain was ascended by a winding road. On the summit there is 
being tnade a people's park ; and I am certain that few public 
recreation grounds have a situation anything like this. When 
the idea of a park was first mooted, it was laughed at, and peo- 
ple voted it impossible for any one fo get to the top. Our 
friend the Colonel, who is an officer of volunteers, one morning 
early summoned his whole battery of artillery upon secret ser- 
vice, and led them out of town, none of them knowing their 
destination, till at last they reached the mountain, and the 
mystery was out Colonel S. and his artillery gained the sum- 
mit, the cannon were planted in position, and when the bells of 
the city struck twelve, a ripping salute proclaimed the feasi- 
bility of a people's park. 

The prospect from the summit was grand. Beneath us lay 
the city, which had quite an ecclesiastical appearance from the 
great number of steeples, church-roofs, and the towers of Notre 
Dame, that rose like giants above the house-tops. Farther 
round we saw in the distance the white foaming waves of the 
never-frozen Lachine Rapids, to " shoot " which in a steamboat 
is one of the summer delights of the traveller ; while dotted 
over the wide stretch of country' were the spires of the French 
parish churches gleaming in the sun. After feasting our eyes, 
we went to the house of a friend close by. It lay in a very 
bleak locality, but the walls were as thick as the ramparts of a 
castle. Headed by the gallant Colonel, our large party 
stormed this hospitable fortress, and, after partaking of coffee, 
danced quadrilles on the spacious floor. 

Next morning we visited the " Thistle Curling Rink." After 
one has associated curling with open-air enjoyment, it seems 
tame to play, as it were in cold blood, inside a rink ; but the 

o 



2l8 



Singing Round the World. 



rivers and lakes of Canada are so covered with snow in winter 
that the game can only be played under shelter. " Would 
you like to toboggan ?" said the Colonel one day. " Delighted," 
said we ; upon which 
he telegraphed a sub- 
urban friend to have 
toboggans ready. To- 
bogganing consists in 
sliding on a sled down 
a snow hill at railway 
speed. A tobc^an 
consists of two pieces 
of bark joined side 
by side and curved 
up at the front Yoa 
lie on this, and stea 
the toboggan with 
your foot Being no- 
vices, we went down, 
in groups, under the 
gu I'd a nee of two^ 
> oung Canadians — 
dashing down the 
long steep hill at 
terrific speed — down, 
down — faster and 
faster — the snow 
whisking off like 
spray in a gale — the ground flashing like lightning beneath 
us. Getting bolder, my brothers and I now toboganned 
singly ; but we all came to grief One got half-way down, 
and brought up with a loud thud against a tree ; another 
went smashing full speed into a fence, knocking out a rail and 
breaking his sled ; a third went head over heels into a ditch, 
with his tobc^gan on top of him. The fun grew fast and 
furious. Down came one of the young Canadians, standing on 
his tobt^gan and guiding it with two strings like reins ; then 




The St Lawrence ^^ Shoved 219 

off went the other fellow in pursuit ; then we all started to- 
keep up the jollity. One Canadian lady said she could be a 
spectator no longer, and vowed that, come what may, she was 
going to have a toboggan ride, of which she was passionately 
fond. She even wanted to take the worthy Colonel down with 
her, but he declined the charming offer, as it was getting late \ 
and so we all went into the kindly folks' house, where the day's 
proceedings finished with a refreshing tea. 

On " Bums' Nicht " we were honoured by an invitation to a 
supper given by the Caledonian Society in memory of the bard. 
With toast and song the Burns banquet came to a successful 
conclusion. Then a procession was formed, and we were 
escorted to the hotel in grand style, accompanied by the 
•* picturesque " strains of the bagpipes, that pealed through the 
silent frosty air. Before going to this nocturnal festival, we 
bad given our "Nicht wi' Burns," as had been our custom 
every year, and, as in the Antipodes, found the name of the 
great poet to possess a magic charm. 

Three months afterwards we again visited this fine city. 
Hundreds of people lined the St. Lawrence watching for the 
"shove." Here and there masses of ice were stacked up,, 
relieving the white plain like sheaves in a harvest-field. " Look, 
look ! " A few hundred yards from the shore was a veritable 
" shove." Scores of people streamed down the streets leading 
to the river. The ice rose in a huge mass, and block after 
block heaved up as if by an unseen giant force, slowly rasped 
one over the other, and fell plunging into the current. Every 
throe was succeeded by renewed disintegration of the immense 
pile as fresh fragments, many tons in weight, were urged over 
by the crushing pressure of the ice-fields. The moving blocks 
were so ponderous that they seemed to linger in their fall. 

Our success in Canada was very gratifying. In the "wee 
toons " of the backwoods, in the thriving agricultural centres, 
and in the larger cities, we met with a ready welcome from our 
countrymen. The Songs of Scotland, too, attracted people of 
other nationalities. The Canadian-born, especially those of 
Scottish descent^ came in large numbers, and showed almost as 



220 Singing Round the World. 

much enthusiasm as the real sons of the heather. The young 
Canadians are imbued with Scottish sentiment by the*^auld 
folks," the original settlers, who are gradually dying out. We 
sang in every town in Ontario. This entailed hard work. 
During the tour there were six weeks in which we " sleighed ^ 

• 

to thirty-six towns, singing every night Sometimes we per- 
formed in villages that could scarcely have furnished an 
audience in themselves, but were the centres of a thickly- 
populated agricultural region — the farmers coming fifteen, 
twenty, and thirty miles in their sleighs. Snow was as vital to 
us as to the shop-keepers. If there was a thaw or very little 
snow, it made an appreciable difference in the audiences. 
Clear, frosty weather, with plenty of snow, brings otit the 
country-folks, who perhaps enjoy the fun of the drive as much 
as the concert itself. One evening an old Scotsman drove 
forty miles. He came into the side-room with dewy eyes, and 
grasped my father's hand warmly, saying : — " I dinna care sae 
muckle for yer sangs — I just want to see a man that's seen 
Perth since I saw it !" The old farmers were very much 
affected by the songs, which to them conjured up by-gone 
scenes and associations. Frequently they would break out, in 
their enthusiasm, into loud comments. One night at the con- 
clusion of "When the kye comes hame," a man slapped his 
knee and loudly exclaimed, with a relishing smack of his lips, 
" Od, that'3 meat an' drink to me! " 

Many of the halls we performed in were town halls — 
capacious, well-lighted, and well-seated. But for them, in the 
smaller towns, where there are no regular concert- rooms, we 
could not have given our entertainment. Of course we had 
frequently to put up our own platform, and hang up a banner 
as a retiring room. But, taken as a whole, the halls of Canada 
are comfortable, serviceable buildings. In one place, however, 
the town hall was in a wretched state. On entering we found 
the building already occupied by performers in the shape of 
a number of hens, who cackled and fluttered about, and 
occasionally made "daring aerial flights" into the galler^s 
while a bantam strutted on the platform, crowing his scales 



Canadian ''Characters.'' 221 

with all the air of an individual well accustomed to the foot- 
lights. From a hole in the middle of the ceiling hung down 
the frayed rope of the town-bell. This was rung every night 
at nine o'clock, and a song had to be stopped while the stolid 
hall-keeper forced himself into the midst of the audience, and 
tugged away at his evening chimes ! Again, some of the halls 
were rather unsafe. One was up a stair, and the public were 
afraid the floor would fall in. While the audience were crowd- 
ing the hall, the proprietor came to us with a face of great 
alarm, saying, "If you let another person in, I won't be 
responsible for the building ! " When a seat broke down 
depositing ten or twelve people on the floor, the audience rose in 
alarm, thinking the fatal crash had come. In a short time the 
performance was varied by the loud thuds of the carpenters 
below, who were putting up props beneath the flooring. 

Occasionally we would come to a town which boasted its 
local poet, who sang of home, and freedom, and heather, and 
broke into poesy anent the Auld Scots Sangs. Next morning, 
the bard would be seen, with his wallet of poems over his 
back, taking the road to some neighbouring village, there to 
sell his books — never troubled about advertisments, canvassers, 
or discounts to " the trade " — himself the producer, advertiser, 
publisher and bookseller. We met, too, that wonderful 
character the bill-poster and town-crier. As we were given to 
understand by the inhabitants of backwoods townships that our 
success would be imperilled if we did not employ the bellman, 
we sometimes handed him a slip of paper : " Mr. Kennedy and 
Family will give their entertainment on the Songs of Scotland 
to-night at eight " — telling him on no account to say anything 
but that With many protestations of " All right — depend on 
me ! " he would back out of our parlour, shortly to be heard 
bawling lustily up and down the street : " O yes, O yes, O yes, 
take notice, all the true sons of Old Scotland — make ready, 
ready, ready, for the Great Meeting to-night, when the well- 
known, talented, and musical Mr. Kennedy, accompanied by 
bis charming sons and daughters, will give their world-famous 
Songs of Scotland, their first appearance in the Town Hall for 



222 Singing Round tJie World, 

the first time, so be in time, time, time — their Name is suffi- 
cient! — ^be early to get your seats, to-night at eight, and sharp's 
the word ! God save the Queen." 

From Montreal we went to Quebec, a night journey of 172 
miles. A little after five next morning we saw the country 
under deep snow. Was it really the 23rd of April? We 
reached Point Levis at half-past seven ; and, across the St 
Lawrence, saw grand old Quebec, with its citadel-crowned 
heights, 350 feet above the river. 

By eight o'clock we had reached the wharf at Quebec, and 
were beset by a mob of carriole drivers. They were like 
wolves that had been starving all the winter and had seen the 
first food of the season. Woe to the unhappy traveller ! One 
man seized his right arm, another his left, a third besieged him 
in front, a fourth implored him from behind to take no other 
vehicle but his ; while a cordon of fellows pressed in, exclaim* 
ing, " That's my man," " He spotted me," and " Drop him, he's 
my job !" " Carriole, carriole ! " cried the Frenchmen. "Carry- 
all, carry-all," shouted the English, with a pronunciation very 
laughable, seeing that each vehicle appeared to hold as few as 
possible. The wharf was densely occupied by these sleighs, 
each capable of seating three passengers. We got ourselves 
distributed into three carrioles, while a fourth was devoted to 
the luggage. 

Above us frowned precipitous rocks and ramparts. The 
streets, rising from the lower town at the base of the heights to 
the upper town on the higher table-land, were extraordinarily 
steep. The snow was covered with dirt and mud, the deposit 
of months now appearing after a few spells of thaw. The 
surface was broken into large holes, and the carrioles pitched 
and jolted in a most amusing manner, making us hold on as 
if for dear life. The hill was occupied by a long string of 
vehicles. Now and then, two or three trunks were jerked out 
into the road, and the sleighs had to be sharply pulled up, 
amidst loud oaths in French and English, and the merriment 
of the passengers ; while above all, the church bells were 



Quebec. 223 

noisily pealing, and the pavements crowded with good Catholics 
£oing to matins. 

We put up at the '* St Louis Hotel/' which was under the 

Iiands of the painters. Long ladders and stagings were placed 

up the front of the building, and Frenchmen scraped and 

splashed and chattered in mid-air. As we sat in our bedroom, 

^ man would now and then make his way in with a rope, and 

tie the end of it to the door-handle, as a security to a ladder 

then and there coming before the window. The passages were 

full of scaffolding, and we had to duck under pairs of steps at 

the risk of being whitewashed. In the streets the snow lay 

dirty and deep, piled up in mounds at places, while men were 

busy breaking up the snow and clearing the roads. In the 

outskirts the snow was heaped up to a height of ten feet. In 

tbc country the drifts were fifteen feet in depth. The streets 

of the older part of the town are tortuous and filthy, and wind 

amongst earthworks and battlements. Ramparts are seen at 

every turn, with port-holes staring at you, and cannon looking 

as if about to pour a volley into some unoffending clothier's or 

grocer's. 

Overlooking the river is a fine esplanade, which cannot be 
less than 300 feet long — a wide, clear platform, occupying a 
commanding height, and forming the afternoon walk of the 
citizens. From here we had a quaint view of the lower town 
—a bewildered confusion of house-tops, ricketty old-fashioned 
gables, and a forest of chimney-stacks. Little railed stairways 
led from the attic window of one tenement to the house-top 
lower down the slope, the roof being used as a promenade. 
Frenchmen in guernseys, with red cowls on their heads, strolled 
on these domestic battlements, like the Jews of old. The gaps 
and cramped lanes between the houses were full of snow, and 
heavy drifts lay high amongst the rocks, as if about to fall in 
avalanches upon the frail dwellings beneath. At the citadel, 
one or two soldiers were moving about, and at intervals a 
bugle-call broke upon the silence. From the ramparts of the 
citadel — the highest point about the city — ^you have, perhaps, 
the most comprehensive river-view in the world. 



224 Singing Round the World, 

Quebec is the Gibraltar of Canada. Its battlements seem \o 
be groaning under history. Here are the famous Plains of 
Abraham, or " Heights of Abram," as Burns calls them, where 
in 1759 was waged the fierce struggle for the possession of 
Quebec, when General Wolfe fell, not however before he had 
wrested the formidable city from the French. Quebec ^as ever 
been the palpitating heart of the historical life of Canada. 
Coming to events of more modern interest, it was here that 
John Wilson, the great Scottish vocalist, breathed his last 
His grave, marked by a fine obelisk, lies in a cemetery some 
distance out from the town. 

We passed four days very pleasantly in the ancient city. 
When the evening of departure came, the hotel-folks were 
arranging for us to drive to the ferry-boat But we had had 
quite enough of the carrioles ! We walked to the lower town, 
down the unhealthy smelling streets and past the old houses ; 
then lost ourselves, and had to ask our way of a policeman, 
who, strange to say, could not give us the direction. "No 
spick Ainglish," said he, "spick you some oder man." Getting 
right at last, we took our places on the boat, and presently got 
into friendly talk with an old Scotsman, who was going across 
the river. " Eh," he commenced, " IVe a fine job on the noo. 
Ye ken Tm in the agency business. Weel, Tm sellin' washing- 
machines ; an* what I dae is this — I gang into the hooses an' 
wash. I just let the folk see what the thing'll dae. Its rollers, 
ye ken, an* sape an* wattcr. There*s nac rubbin* o* the claes. 
I putt a five-dollar bill, wrapped up in the claes, through an* 
through the machine twenty times without spilin' it Ay, that 
convinces the folk, an* they buy the washers by the dizzen." 
During this interesting confession, the steamer had moved off, 
and was gliding out from under the fortifications and frowning 
rocky heights of the city, which stood square-cut and massively 
black against the sunset 



Yankee-land, 225 



CHAPTER XVII. 

* The Maritime Provinces— New Brunswick — Nova Scotia — Newfoundland. 

Our faces were now turned to St John, the commercial capital 
of New Brunswick, travelling by way of New Hampshire and 
Maine. After a night journey we awoke to find ourselves in 
Yankee-land. At Island Pond the baggage was examined by 
the Custom officers — one of our trunks being opened and the 
contents overhauled to our intense delight! The train 
** breakfasted *' here. At the hotel-table there sat opposite us 
two young ladies, who were sisters, and talked in a loud tone 
of voice concerning their private affairs. From an adjoining 
table, a young man greeted the fair maidens as old acquaint- 
ances, and asked if he might take a seat beside them. " Oh, I 
should so much wish it," said the younger gushingly. " So 
glad," said he. " We've jest come from Dee-troit," commenced 
the elder sister in a scientific-lecturer pitch of voice, " an' we're 
goin* down east to Professor Brown's College." "Yes," 
chimed in the younger damsel, " Fm told they polish an' turn 
out well there ; that's why we're goin'." Then the ladies asked 
the gentleman " what locality he was located in ;" after which 
they went on to state that their " pa " the doctor could not 
come to breakfast as. he was "sick" (ill). The elder sister 
being pressed to take a hot roll — " No," said she, " Fm too sick 
to look at them buns." Then stretching her arm across the 
table after the departing waitress, " Hi ! see here, you there,'*^ 
she cried, ** I want more tea." " Oh," added her sister, " Fm 
goin' to fill up with coa-fee!" On the railway platform 
strolled their " pa " the doctor, a middle-aged gentleman with 
clean-shaven face, heavy features, his hair arranged in long 
wispy ringlets stiffened with grease, and wearing a high hat 
narrowing at the crown. He was shortly joined by his twa 



226 Singing Round the World, 

daughters, who walked deliberately up and down, each chew- 
ing a wooden toothpick. 

Our further journey was delightful. The snow was not 
lying on the lower ground ; the air had some balminess and the 
sun some warmth. The White Mountains of New Hampshire 
were a noteworthy feature, the loftiest peak, Mount Washington, 
covered with a liberty-cap of snow, towering into the blue sky. 
During the forenoon the train traversed the State of Maine^ 
where exists a stringent liquor-law, but where " bitters " of all 
kinds are sold with impunity. It must be confessed, though, 
that the towns had a great air of sobriety. A remark of mine 
that nobody would be able to get a " nip " here was received 
with smiles of incredulity by our fellow-passengers, and then a 
number of incidents were told, to show how ingeniously the 
Liquor Law is evaded. One story ran as follows. A book- 
peddler, with a bundle of blue-and-gold volumes under his arm, 
steps into a shop : — " Hev any of my books to-day ? " " No ! — 
get away," says the shopkeeper, huffily. "Jest look at one 
book." "What have you got?" "The Pilgrim's Progress." 
^* Get away, now, d ye hear ? " " Jest hev a look ! " " Clear 
out ! " The peddler unscrews a comer of the sham book, and 
holds it to the storekeeper's nose: — "Hev a sftiff^ then?" 
^* Eh ? " (storekeeper sniffs) — " Old rye, by thunder ! I guess 
I'll take three volumes !" 

The Yankee element faded out of the "cars" as we entered 
New Brunswick. When we sighted St. John the train was 
running on a peninsula. On the left appeared the river, on 
the right the shores and outstanding seal-rocks of the Bay of 
Fundy. A short trip in a ferry-boat brought us across to St 
John. The town is busy and enterprising. The prospect 
down many of the streets ends in a pleasant water view, either 
of the St. John River or the Bay. St John is famed for ship- 
ping and lumbering. There is a ton of shipping for every in- 
habitant of the province, which numbers 300,000 people. St 
John has a pretty good harbour, sheltered at its mouth by an 
island, on which there is a steam fog-horn. At this time the 
giant trombone was booming night and day, with a plaintive 



The ''Blue-Noses:' 227 

dying cadence. The Bay of Fundy is one of the tidal wonders 
of the world. The tide rises in some places sixty feet — in the 
harbour of St John it marks thirty feet At the wharves you 
see ships of 1500 tons lying high on the ooze. The St John 
River, at a part called the Rapids or Falls, is hemmed in closely 
by precipitous rocks, and here you see the marvellous effect of 
the big tide. At high water the tide sweeps up and combats 
with the wild rapids, flooding them completely, and making a 
smooth, deep channel for vessels. Again, at Moncton, at the 
head of the Bay of Fundy, the spring tides flow up in a wave 
two or three feet high, resembling on a smaller scale the "bore" 
of the Ganges and the Yang-tse-kiang. 

How we enjoyed the delightful sea-breezes at St John! The 
people here have been dubbed the " Blue- Noses," probably in 
allusion to their climate, but I should rather call them the 
" Red-Cheeks," as everybody has such a good colour. How 
different from the Western States, with their dry climate and 
want of salt in the air ! 

St John to Newcastle was a pleasant railway journey of 160 
miles through New Brunswick, the conductor shouting out such 
unearthly names as Quispamsis, Nauwigewauk, Passekeag, 
Apohaqui, Plumwaseep, and Penobsquis. At Newcastle we 
sang in the new Masonic Hall, the acoustics of which were not^ 
increased by the floor being carpeted with two inches of saw- 
dust This was for the ingenious purpose of keeping the floor 
deaa The audience, of course, were limited to the mere 
clapping of hands ; but at last they could stand it no longer, 
and scraped holes through the saw-dust to the floor, so as to 
hear the clatter of their feet 

A steamer conveyed us from Newcastle to Chatham, six miles 
down the Miramichi River. The sun shone in a cloudless sky, 
the river exquisitely smooth, and the wooded shores mirroring 
themselves on the glassy water. Now a large stern-wheeled 
steamer would churn past ; now an Indian would steal along 
in his bark canoe ; now an enormous raft, with the water lap- 
ping lazily against it, would glide down the river, propelled by 
sail and oar. On board the steamer were several old men, all 



228 Singing Round the World. 

natives of New Brunswick. ** I was born down the river here," 
commenced one of them; "an* when I was a younker, the 
great fire took place that burnt over a big track of country, a 
hundred miles long and seventy miles broad, devouring the 
villages it passed over. My father was workin' aboard one of 
the boats at the time, an' wasn't at home all that day. There 
was my mother, my sister, a neighbour's two little children, an" 
myself in the house. In the evening my mother happened to 
be outside the cottage, when she saw a red glimmer far off, an* 
came in saying there was a fire somewhere. A few minutes 
after that she went out again, an* saw the glare was fast comin' 
nearer. Then she knew the forest was ablaze, an' she ran in 
with a blanket to cover us. She had hardly done it when the 
flames came rushing along. They leaped down in great flakes 
upon us, like fire out of heaven, an' our cottage was eaten up 
like tinder. My mother an' my sister perished there, an' I 
never saw them again ; the bones of the two little children 
were got some time after amongst the ashes. I was the only . 
survivor, an' dreadfully burnt. My father was kept on board 
the ship all night ; no one was allowed to have any connection 
with the land for fear of fire ; an' it was not till next day that 
he got ashore an' saw the black ruins of our old home." 

We returned south again as far as Moncton and branched 
off to Amherst, where we first set foot in Nova Scotia. From 
hence to Truro, was a splendid journey amid green refreshing 
landscapes. Truro lies in the heart of old-settled country and 
is surrounded by scenery beautiful even for Nova Scotia. The 
weather was hot; summer had set in with a rush. The railway 
ride to Halifax was a perfect treat. The recent rains had 
washed and gladdened the face of nature. The grass was vivid 
green — the fields were mantled with deep clover — the bushes 
and shrubs were full of vigorous life — the trees had burst into foli- 
age — the air was inexpressibly fragrant, clear and exhilarating. 
Alter the long spell of winter and the wet weather of spring, 
the verdant loveliness of these Nova Scotian landscapes was 
truly delightful. This was the Acadie or Acadia over which 
Longfellow has thrown the glamour of his charming " Evan- 



Halifax. 229 

geline.'* The Scotch element in the province is now very 
large. The very Indians chance to be called "mic-macs!" 
The neighbouring island of Cape Breton is almost wholly 
peopled by Highlanders and the Gaelic is there the language 
of the people. 

At eight o'clock in the evening we sighted the world famous 
harbour of Halifax. Though not perhaps so beautiful, it is as 
spacious as the like extolled harbour of Sydney in New South 
Wales, The situation of Halifax on the sloping ground and 
heights which look down upon the harbonr is very impressive. 
The city, rising above the fringe of shipping, is crowned with 
the green hill whereon stands the citadel. There is here all 
the life, display and petit scandal of a garrison-town. The city 
when we first saw it presented a very animated spectacle. The 
pavements were thronged with soldiers, sailors, ruddy-faced 
sea-captains, young English ** swells," negroes, Roman Catholic 
priests, Indians with dyed basket work for sale, officers in 
civilian garb, and officers' ladies with little pet bull dogs, while 
now and again a military somebody, adorned with cocked hat 
and feathers, would drive past in an open carriage. The 
market was another point of interest. Along the pavements 
crouched rows of negro women, smoking short pipes, and dis- 
playing baskets of vegetables. The crowd picturesquely 
relieved by one or two squaws in richly-beaded robes. 

Churches are numerous in Halifax, and the Presbyterian 
body well represented. In one Scotch church there is a 
splendid organ. The subject of instrumental music in church 
is agitating the minds of the people here, as everywhere else in 
Canada. It is related that during the discussion of the Organ 
Question at a certain meeting of Presbyterian clergymen, one 
of them rose and said : — " Brethren, I think it expedient that 
instrumental music should be introduced, to give variety to our 
plain and quiet Presbyterian service, and keep up with the 
wants of the day, thereby drawing more young people to the 
church." At this a grave old minister remarked, that his 
worthy brother, by making the organ an attraction, was acting 



230 Singing Round the World. 

on the principle of the old song, " O whistle an' FU come to ye, 
my lad !" 

We are off to Newfoundland. The Allan liner steams down 
the harbour, the shores of which are obscured by the fogs roll- 
ing in densely from the sea. The open sea is gained 
unconsciously, for the coast is invisible, and the water like a 
lake. We strike up acquaintance with folks on board from all 
parts of the world — some from New Zealand ; a Scottish 
farmer, too, who has been forty-two years in Nova-Scotia, and 
is going home " on the sly " to take his brother and sisters by 
surprise ; a Dutchman from the Cape of Good Hope, who is 
a member of the Legislature there, and left the colony last 
"Yune;" and an old lady from Newfoundland, voluble in praSse 
of its "dear rugged rocks." Two days we rush at well-nigh full 
speed through the mist, the steam-whistle blowing night and 
day. The steamer emerges from the mist in sight of the shores 
of Newfoundland. Round about us are icebergs, that gleam 
with dazzling whiteness in the sun. We pass close to an 
immense block, its dipping crystal edge glittering with a 
delicious transparent light -green that contrasts beautifully 
with the pure snow encrusted on its surface. To right and left 
shoot out wild, precipitous headlands. Before us appears the 
mouth of the harbour, an exceedingly narrow gut, rent open 
in some convulsions of nature, and nearly invisible till we are 
close upon it. The steamer cautiously enters between the 
sheer heights that sink abruptly into the water, and barren 
slopes with a threadbare covering of stunted grass, descending 
steeply on either hand. These Heads have perhaps no 
parallel in narrowness, and an intruding rock lessens the width 
still more ; but there is a great depth of water close inshore. 
The ship's cannons are fired, and the reports echo and re-echo 
with deafening roar from side to side of the contracted gullet 
An overpowering odour of cod-fish greets our noses, and the 
town of St. John's is displayed to view, forming a horse-shoe 
against the high ground facing the entrance. 

The little harbour, locked in by the high hills, is lively with 
fishing-boats, schooners, and small steamers. The wharf \s 



9 

5/. Johns. 231 

crowded by a sample of the inhabitants. We find that the 
large assembly is not from unusual interest in the steamer (as 
we had fondly flattered ourselves !) but owing to this being the 
Corpus Christi holiday, when the Catholics, the majority of the 
population, are enjoying themselves. As we pass through the 
crowd, we heard loud whispers of who and what we are ; for in 
this island everybody knows everybody else, and as it isn't the 
family of Mr. O'Malley of Hearts Content, or Mr. Mauvaise of 
Carbonear, or the Flahertys of Harbour Grace, it can be no 
other than the " Kennedys." 

St Johns is the capital of Newfoundland, the oldest colony 
of Britain. The island is something larger than Ireland, lies at 
the mouth of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and is the most easterly 
portion of America. The population is 161,000, so there are a 
good many acres of land (and rock) per head. St. Johns itself 
has 23,000 inhabitants. A queer place it is, with one good 
business street a mile and a half long, running at the back of 
the wharves. Higher up on the hill is another street, less 
regrular, and not so substantial in its buildings. The rest of the 
town is composed of bye-streets, lanes, and a nebulous 
collection of wooden huts perched higgledy-piggledy upon the 
stony braes that rise in and about the town. The better class 
of houses are of brick, some faced with plaster, too many with 
an old uncleansed appearance. If the folks used whitewash or 
paint, it would wonderfully brighten up the town. 

Through the streets drive little fish-carts and other vehicles, 
drawn by diminutive shaggy horses. Burly red-whiskered 
men in rough blue guernseys walk along, trailing heavy cod- 
fish. Shock-headed children and unkempt women are filling 
their cans at one of the public wells. A knot of bulky black 
dogs are snarling over some fish-refuse. There are scores of 
dogs here. You see them prowling about the streets, romping 
with the children, or sunning themselves in doorways. No 
matter where you go, you are always knocking against some 
bass-voiced dog or other. Everybody, even the ver>' poorest 
person, seems to own one. The dogs are of all kinds, but few, 
I think, of the pure breed. There are far more Newfoundland 



232 Singing Round ike World, 

-dogs in Scotland than here. Half the poor brutes are muzzled 
— "to keep them from fighting with the other half/' as an 
Irishman explained to us ! Every second or third dog you see 
has its back frayed and its loins chafed, from having to be put 
in harness during the winter to draw logs for firewood. In the 
outskirts you come upon squalor and poverty. You walk on 
rough cobble pavements and climb foul steep bye-ways, with 
rocks cropping up in the middle of them. You see ricketty 
black houses, all off the straight, and shored up with long 
poles. At one part the slovenly huts are enclosed with high 
palisade fences like a Maori " pah," while alongside them the 
abrupt gravelly slope has been scratched into a little patch of 
cultivated ground. You come upon long rows of squalid 
dwellings — the narrow door cut in half across, the lower leaf 
shut, and a slatternly female lolling over it, exchanging gossip 
with another woman leaning out of the door adjoining. No 
matter how decayed or wretched the house, it possesses a little 
shop, principally for the sale of tape and confectionery, with 
hens dancing in and out behind the counter. Nets, sails, oil- 
tuns, and anchor-chains lie on all hands. Long-legged pigs, 
goats, and scraggy cows dispute supremacy with bare-legged, 
bare-headed children, playing in the middle of the street. 

On the other side of the harbour, you walk through a real 
fishing-village, composed of decrepit shanties, many of them 
tottering on piles above the water — others poked away into 
little rocky gullies, or mounted on the edges of shelves and 
clifTs, and propped up to prevent their being blown over. 
Above and amongst the houses arc erected large " flakes " or 
stagings for drying cod. Very interesting it is to look down 
upon them, covered with a field of fish, and see a gang of men 
and women walking about, stacking them in bunches like 
sheaves on a corn-field. The road through this fishing-hamlet 
is narrow, rocky, winding — occasionally leading over the top of 
the drying-platforms, and at others bringing you amongst the 
unhealthy huts that lie in the damp cold shade beneath these 
brushwood roofs. One moment your feet will be splashing in 
a hill-stream, next going through puddles of fish-brine. In 



The " Codfish Aristocracy'' 233 

this place you ascend a wooden plank with ledges, like the 
entrance to a hen-house ; in that, you walk along a crazy kind 
of balcony in front of some trembling huts ; " now winding 
amongst herring barrels, now alongside ships loading up with 
seal-skins ; now passing immense wooden vats filled with seal- 
fat, slowly melting by its own weight and the heat of the sun, 
and being drawn off in barrels for shipment On every hand 
boats, oars, and nets — everywhere the smell of cod liver oil, seal 
oil, and fish. 

The fishermen, sealers, carters, all the poorer class, are Irish. 
Scotch people are few, but are to be found in the prosperous 
part of the community — the " codfish aristocracy " by name. 
The large proportion of the inhabitants are natives, no 
immigration having taking place for the last twenty-five years. 
The original settlers came from the West of England and 
West of Ireland. The rich Irish brogue has been perpetuated, 
and has leavened the language of the island ; for even the 
children of Scotch parents, from association with Irish boys 
and girls and Irish servants, talk with a strong Hibernian 
accent 

Cod-fishing is the employment of most part of the people 
during the summer months. The islanders prosecute the safer 
and more convenient fisheries along the coast — the Great 
Banks of Newfoundland being left to the French and American 
vessels, which may account for one seeing such startling 
financial news as : — " The New York banker, Edward Jones, 
has put in here short of salt 1" The papers come out with 
their telegrams : — " Cod has struck in," " Herring has passed 
here." "Caplin," the important cod-bait, strikes in on 15th 
June. When it makes its appearance coastwise, the cod is 
approaching also. Caplins are like sprats, and come in 
struggling myriads ; they are netted in thousands, and even 
used as manure on the fields. There are two ways of catching 
cod — one is by the caplin-bait, the other is by "jigging." On 
Saturday afternoon my brothers and I went out with some 
Scotch friends in a wee steam launch, through the Heads, and 
into a bay, where we had "jigging" and caplin-fishing to our 

p 



234 Smging Round fhe World, 

heart's content But we caught nothing ; and, after that, what; 
did. we care for the many stern beauties of the coast, the 
** Black Head," '* Peggy's Leg," and other remarkable forma- 
tions? An ugly swell, too, laid us all prostrate over the 
gunwale. But a refreshing tea was prepared on board, and^ 
truth to tell, we boiled the bait ! 

There is a heavy feudal feeling about the island. The fisher- 
men, by their improvidence, place themselves under the heel, 
of the fishing-companies and merchants. A man, say, advances 
30,000 dollars* worth of goods to a ** bay," as a small fishing^^ 
community is called, the success or otherwise of this transactioa, 
depending on the result of the fishing. For if the latter is a 
failure, then the debt is virtually cancelled. But the store*, 
keeper, to recompense himself for these risks and losses^ 
increases the price of the goods. Then there is a middle-man. 
or agent at the "bay," who also understands a bad fishery 
means " no pay," and who also " puts it on " to save his own 
pocket, thereby making a second rise in the price of the goods 
before they reach the fishermen. " Independence of mind !" a 
man said — "if the fishermen don't work to suit their employers 
they don't get any provisions ; and if they doa't do what the 
priest tells them, they're cursed outright — its either starvation 
or damnation ! 

St John's has the extraordinary number of eleven news* 
papers. They are all small sheets, about a quarter the size of 
an ordinary daily. One of them boasts a circulation of 150; 
another taxes our credulity by claiming 200. There is a paper, 
which is " published daily," but only comes out twice a week. 
We called at another office on Tuesday, but Monday's paper. 
had not been issued. " You see," was the explanation, " the 
holiday last Thursday has thrown us quite out — my boy only 
appeared yesterday." We were told of one paper that came 
out " semi-occasionally." One almost expected to hear of 
another as " bi-doubtfully," The offices here remind me of one 
we saw in Canada. Asking for the editor, we were confronted 
by a brisk young fellow in shirt-sleeves. " Editor ? I'l^ editor, 
proprietor, printer, compositor, pressman, newsagent, touter. 



Newfoundland Mon^. 235 

and account-collector, which is the hardest work of all — so I 
guess if you want any of those gentlemen, just speak to me ! " 
There are about half-a-dozen kinds of money here. First there 
is the real Newfoundland coinage — the "pound," or four 
dollars ; the " shilling," or twenty-cent piece, and so on — the 
currency being on a lower scale of value than ours. All large 
sums are spoken of and calculated in pounds. Then there is 
the Canadian money, dollars, and cents, and American money, 
both of which are taken on different discounts. There are also 
the Spanish and Mexican dollars ; while, to increase the con- 
fusion, there is a considerable amount of British money in 
circulation. 

We had some difficulty and much fun in getting a piano for 
the hall here. In the first place, we called on Mr. A., the 
music-seller, who showed us a cottage-piano half a tone flat 
** I had to lower it," said he, " for some young ladies who sang 
at a local concert" The piano, we were told, would have to 
be taken out of the first-storey window. Last time it was 
moved he had to saw off the banisters of the stairs, but that 
came to be troublesome and expensive. He dealt chiefly now 
in pianettes. " The fact is," said he, " the doors and stairs are 
so narrow that coffins and pianos have to be taken in and out 
of the windows." We found there was only two " grands " in 
the island — one at Harbour Grace and one at Mr. B.'s, to whom 
accordingly we went It was an ancient, highly-carved instru- 
ment, with a sonorous bass, but " tink-a-tanky " upper notes. 
Off next to see the piano of Mrs. C, a widow, whom we sur- 
prised in the act of cleaning house. Oh yes, she had a 
" cottage " — ^and it was the most " cottagey " piano one ever 
saw, for the back of it rose almost as high as the ceiling. "It's 
rather out of tune," remarked Mrs. C. ; so we struck A to test 
it with our " fork," but the key gave no sound, " Just what I 
said," she exclaimed — ^" some of the notes are out of tune 
altogether ! ** 

Many hours we spent in romantic expeditions amongst the 
lofty hills that overlook the harbour, and wild rambles along 
the rocky nooks of the coast The shore is indented with 



236 Singirig Rotmd the World, 

deep, gloomy clefts — sheer glistening walls of rock rising on 
either side, and the imprisoned sea thundering and reverberat- 
ing up the sides of the terrible fissure. Yet here, on some 
little alluvial plot between the rocks, you will see a frail fisher- 
hut sticking as pertinaciously as a limpet Over the mountain 
we roam, and lo ! after a tough ascent, are standing on the top 
of the breezy heights, whence we look down upon the coast as 
it busks in the warm, brilliant sunshine. Great swelling humps 
and hummocks, like clenched hands with bare ridges for 
knuckles, are outstretched fearlessly into the sea, their bases 
fringed with limpid green shallows, on which the waves seem 
to break gently in creamy foam. From our giddy elevation 
we see the fishing-cobles rocking on the lazy swell. Below 
and beyond, all round the circle of vision, and extending to 
where the dim fog-bank skirts the remote horizon, lies the broad 
expanse of ocean, over which the sportive wind sends many a 
dark ruffle — its surface picked out in many places with gleam- 
ing sails and the more vivid silvery whiteness of the outstand- 
ing icebergs. 

The interior of Newfoundland, strange to say, has not yet been 
thoroughly explored. So far as is known, however, there are 
plenty of moss-hags and moors, some lightly timbered country, 
and not a few acres of arable land. 

The seaboard of Newfoundland is occupied more or less by 
fishermen. The remoter villages are called the " Outports." 
The people are far from civilisation ; few of them can read and 
write. The boys, when they should be at school, are away with 
their fathers at the fishing. A priest even is seldom seen. Such 
a state of things is far more woful than the condition of the 
South Sea Islanders. In the nearer and more frequented ports 
there are well-ordered thriving, communities. We met a man 
in St. John's who was a fiddler, and frequently visited ** the 
Ports" in this capacity — that is, he was invited to play at 
weddings. These are no paltry affairs here. As a reverend 
"Father" only comes round once in a long while, it is found 
best to have a lot of marriages at once — sometimes twenty-four 
at a time. One of the customs is, that the brides decorate the 



Newfoundland Marriages. 237 

fiddler with long ribbons of different colours, so that the jolly 
musician is soon as radiant with streamers as an Arctic sky. 

We lived at the only hotel in St John's — ^a small house, with 
accommodation for about fourteen people. The head of the 
table was graced by our landlord and his lady, in the ancient 
hostelry fashion. We had cod every day for dinner, save when 
a splendid salmon burst upon us — its plump, aristocratic form 
reposing in a tin dish about three feet long. We never tired of 
cod, boiled or fried — it was a princely dish. Our taste was also 
gratified in the matter of vegetables, which were cooked in the 
Irish fashion — ^boiled, that is, along with pork or ham. Occa- 
sionally, too, in default of cabbage, we had dandelions and tur- 
nip-tops — " neep-shaws " being accounted as much of a luxury 
here as in London. 

We enjoyed our stay in St John's to the full. The prover- 
bial hospitality of the Newfoundlanders was not wanting. We 
met many friendly Scotsmen, and one day received a laconic 
note: — "Parritch will be ready the morn's momin' at eight 
o'clock " — true to which invitation we arose early, and walked 
two miles and a half into the country, where we were treated 
to delicious milk-porridge. This Scotsman's house stood by 
itself in the midst of quiet green howes and knowes, and was a 
cosy, handsome building in the Elizabethan style. In winter 
time our friend removed into town, for even the villa was not 
proof*against the wild snow-wreaths that buried up the fences. 
In the course of a pleasant " crack " our hostess remarked that 
life passed quietly in Newfoundland — no hurry, worry, or ex- 
citement The fishing season glided into the winter season, 
the winter season into the sealing season ; they did not mea- 
sure time by days and hours as they did in Scotland. Still an 
eighteen-pounder fires every day at noon, while at eleven 
o'clock P.M., a watchman patrols the street calling out the hour, 
adding — ^** And a clear starlight night," or whatever the sky 
may be. 

The time never hung heavy on our hands till the Thursday 
we were to leave St John's. All day we watched the signal 
station on the hill for signs of the steamer ; but it was not till 



238 Singing Round the World. 

very late at night that we heard the double bang of the ship's 
cannon. About one o'clock on Friday morning the " Caspian " 
sailed, the last sounds we heard from the shore being some 
kindly parting words in broadest Doric from half-a-dozen young 
Scotsmen, with whom my brothers and I had spent a friendly 
time. \ The steamer glided past the high land of the harbour, 
that moyed in inky black masses against a starlit sky, then 
emerged from the dark rocky gateway, with the bright shooting 
rays of the lighthouse running up and down the ocean swelL 
In half an hour the elevated outline of the coast was extending 
behind us, with a gentle aurora rising above it like another twi- 
light Good night to " Terra Nova,'' 

A journey of seven days brought us to Liverpool, and a few 
hours later we were in full enjoyment of the comforts of 
" Home, sweet home," after an absence of four and a half years. 
Our trip had been one of considerable toil, but also of gp-eat 
pleasure. As a family-party, we carried "our ain fireside" 
with us, and found "friends in ilka place" to brighten our 
joumeyings to and fro. The hearts of Scotsmen everywhere 
were full of the liveliest and tenderest feelings towards home 
and its associations, its poetr>'', and its song. The Scottish 
emigrant nearly always proves a credit to his country. He 
makes a first-class colonist — a fact we frequently heard attested 
by those of other nationalities. As a rule he is satisfied with 
his lot, though sometimes expecting to combine the advaiTtages 
of a new country with all the comforts of the old. 

We have often been asked, since our return, " What place 
did you like best in your travels?" — a very difficult question to 
answer, where there is such a variety of place, climate, and 
condition as is presented in the colonies. Canada, being com- 
paratively next door, is very attractive to those who do not like 
to risk a longer journey. A man goes to Canada or the States 
with the feeling that, if he does not like the country, he can 
come back " in a few months." At the same time, there is no 
more risk in going to the Antipodes, and the prospects are 
equally good. A capable, healthy and temperate man will 
certainly better his condition in any of the colonies. Maigr 



Our Native Land. 



239 



of the colonists we met in New Zealand felt that in coming so 
far they had severed connection with the old country, but they 
had a yearning, lingering hope of seeing their native land once 
more. One old Scotsman said, " I doot Til no get hame to 
Scotland again — it'll no be convenient to gang ; but if onybody 
said to me, * Ye shall not go,' I'd be off the morn's mornin' !" 
Amid Canadian snows. New Zealand mountains, Australian 
bush, and South African veldt^ one meets with the same shrewd, 
persevering Scotsman, steadily moving in his colonial orbit, and 
moving none the less regularly because of the tender gravita- 
tion of his heart towards the central sphere of patriotic affect- 
tion — dear though distant Scotland. 




SOUTH AFRICA. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



Voyage to Ihe Cape — Am»ing in Table Bay — Cape Town — Table Uouotaia— 
Port Eliiabetb— Giabamstown— Up-Countiy TraTelling— The Veldt— TaJe of 
a Kafir Wai. 

" I've got it settled now," remarked my father one bleak day 
in January 1879. 

" What ? — a tour in England ? — Scotland ? — Ireland ? — or — ^ 

" South Africa !" he exclaimed. " Yes, David, we will go to 
the Cape this summer ! " 

And in tbisswift, decisive manner was an important trip settled. 
The idea did not look at all amiss. The Galeka and Gaika 
risings had been quelled ; South Africa seemed settled. But 
after our arrangements had been completed, the Zulu war broke 
out, and Isandhlwana came like a thunder clap upon the Brit- 
ish public Our friends felt assured we would never visit South 



''Land hoi'' 241 

Africa now- They thought we would be going with our lives 
in our hand, or be liable to be seized and kept by JCetewayo as 
his perpetual Court Minstrels. Zulu war or no Zulu war, we 
had secured our passages by the Donald Currie line of steamers 
running to the Cape. I started off in advance, followed a 
fortnight after by my father and my sisters Marjory and Lizzie ; 
while my brothers Robert and James departed to prosecute 
vocal studies in Milan. 

The harbour of Dartmouth looked fresh and lovely — the 
green and wooded heights dappled with the swift-fleeting sha- 
dows of the breeze-blown clouds. The "Dublin Castle" steam- 
ship was sailing out with reinforcements for the Cape. Her 
decks were swarming with troops — six companies of the 60th 
Rifles. The saloon was thronged with officers and civilian 
passengers, among the latter those jackals of history, " our own 
specials." Amid the cheers of the seven hundred soldiers who 
thronged bulwarks and rigging, the ship's cannon fired, and 
** Auld Lang Syne " blared upon the ocean breeze, answered by 
the same heart-cheering tune from a. band upon the headland. 
On a projecting point had gathered a vast crowd of spectators, 
and the hill blossomed white with handkerchiefs. 

The soldiers were attired in dark-grey overcoats and coarse 
drooping cowls, giving one the idea of an insurrection of some 
hundreds of Masaniellos. As a rule, they were not idle — now, 
like a swarm of ants, coming up with their hammocks to the 
fresh air ; now, forty or fifty of them at a time, helping the 
sailors to haul the main-brace, or set a topsail ; now gathering 
round some companion, who danced a jig to the music of a 
tin whistle. The greatest treat of all was when the men felt 
moved to sing their barrack-ditties. Patriotic songs were most 
in favour, and sentiments of honour and valour were trolled 
forth in the twilight, to an accompaniment of sea-billows, by a 
<^orus of two or three hundred voices. Occasionally a solo 
vocalist with gift of impromptu^ would introduce apt allusions 
to the fields of glory at the Cape, and the honourable graves 
that awaited the 6oth Rifles there. 

" Land ho ! " There, on the horizon, one bright sw* 



242 Singing Round the World. 

noon in March, appeared the rugged ranges of the Cape, witk 
the unmistakable Table Mountain, though seen for the first 
time, towering up like an old familiar friend. There, too, were 
the Twelve Apostles, — a dozen peaks as varied in character as 
their celebrated namesakes, and looking as grim as when, amid 
the tempest, they heard the impious Dutchman swear he would 
weather the great Cape. The restless-looking mountain chain 
shone tawnily under the blue heavens, and loomed larger and 
larger, till early in the afternoon we arrived in Table Bay. 
Cape Town, the capital of South Africa, displays itself in a 
bright, fresh-looking crescent The streets rise gently from the 
shore, and break away on the back slopes into nestling villas 
and gardens, the majestic Table Mountain shutting in the whole 
scene, with its soaring precipices, 4000 feet high. 

Alongside the wharf, we found ourselves under a broiling sun, 
with hundreds of blacks awaiting us, and scores of Europeans, 
boasting puggarees, linen coats, and white umbrellas. The 
gangway was shoved on board by a dozen coolies, "bossed" by 
a burly Scottish gentleman, whose " braid Scots " tones were 
the first words that greeted us in South Africa. The motley 
throng was backed by a long string of light-painted hansom 
cabs, driven by Malays, hailing one of whom I was conveyed 
along the coal-dusty wharves. " Any cigars or jewellery?" A 
gold-braided official standing in the middle of the road, like a 
highwayman, seized my horse's head, and I had to report my- 
self at the Custom- House, where a number of German Jews 
were undergoing a searching ordeal. The shed was littered 
with shirts, socks, slippers, and wearing apparel generally, while 
over the emptied boxes stooped the unlucky owners, apoplectic 
with rage and exertion. Fortunately my luggage was passed 
at once. I said laughingly, "That's surely because I've a 
Scotch face ; " and the answer was, " Right you are, sir ! " 

The streets of Cape Town are unpaved, and the drainage is 
open. They are dusty and dirty by day, and unsavoury by 
night The houses lack the comfort and shade one expects in 
a warm climate. Few verandahs greet the eye — scarcely any 
awnings. The folks on the sunny side of the way darken their 



Cape Town. 243 

houses with shutters ; the streets all seem to be struck blind 
about mid-day, and the loneliness and glare are very oppressive. 
The houses have bare staring fronts, large windows with 
innumerable small panes, and flat roofs ; while their Dutch 
origin is further marked by the " stoep " (pronounced " stoop ") 
— a stone platform, from four to five feet high, raised in front 
of each house, and reached by a small flight of steps. Every 
stoep is separated from its neighbour, either by a low stone or 
brick parapet, or by a break ; and as it abuts some three or 
four feet, occupies the place where the pavement should be. 
The foot passenger has to be continually swerving off the 
desultory side-walk into the dusty street I must say how- 
ever, that it is a great luxury to sit on a stoep and sip tea in 
the starry evenings of these latitudes. 

The chief thoroughfare is Adderley Street, which contains 
some fine stores, offices, and warehouses. The ** Parade " is a 
large open space in the heart of the city. An interesting 
building to the stranger is Government House, which has a . 
comfortable dignity, or aristocratic homeliness, that strikes one 
very favourably. Another feature of Cape Town is its 
Botanical Gardens, and close to them the delightful Avenue, 
*— a mile of shady walk, cool in the summer sun, and charming 
under the Cape moon. 

What a mixture of nationalities is in Cape Town ! English, 
Dutch, Malays, Mozambiquers, Indians, Kafirs, and "Cape 
Town Boys" (descendants of St Helena immigrants), — all 
shades of colour ranging from deepest negro night, through 
twilight of half and quarter castes, to pure white European. 
Of Cape Town's 33,000 inhabitants, the most numerous are the 
Malays. The men sport large broad-brimmed hats of basket- 
work, and many have coloured handkerchiefs tied round their 
heads. The women flaunt gay head-dresses, and when a 
wedding or a feast takes place, the streets are ablaze with 
colour. At one marriage, the bride wore in the morning a blue 
silk, in the afternoon pink satin, and in the evening white satin 
with pearls in her hair ; the invitation cards wese in silver and 
gold ; and the bride was a washerwoman I Tlie Malays axe 



244 Singing Round the World. 

industrious, — the men are cab-drivers, warehousemen, carpen- 
ters, masons; the women sell fruit and wash clothes. They are 
all Mohammedans, and one afternoon I visited their mosque^ 
a small building in a side street At the door lay a heap of 
boots and shoes, belonging to the Faithful, and watched by a 
crowd of boys, who pester the visitors for douceurs. The 
worshippers seemed of the better class, and the variegated 
colours of their robes made up a brilliant spectacle. They sat 
cross-legged, each on his own little strip of carpet The old 
priest or " imaum " read the Koran, and scores of white turbans 
rose and fell with the responsive bows of the congregation. 
Though forming the largest proportion of the population, the 
Cape Malays are a mere accident — a remnant of the old Dutch 
days of slavery — and are not found in any numbers out of 
Cape Town. 

Next, numerically, come the Dutch. Cape Town is Dutch, 
and Dutch it will be for many a long day to come. It has a 
Dutch Mayor, and the Town Council is largely made up of 
Dutchmen. The Dutch language is all but universal. The 
Scotch storekeeper speaks it, so does the Malay ; the " Cape 
Town Boys" speak it; the Mozambiquers, the East Indian 
coolies, the Kafirs, all speak it You can walk through street 
after street of *' Kapstadt " and not hear one word of English. 
The British element is the weakest in point of numbers, but to 
it we owe what vital energy Cape Town possesses ; to it we 
owe the finer buildings and street improvements ; and to it we 
look for the future progress of the city and the colony 
generally. 

We lived at a boarding-house in Bree Street, the Dutch for 
"broad street" The house was distinctly Dutch, and the 
landlady even more so. She was a stout old lady, and sat at 
the head of her table with a domestic queenliness, issuing her 
commands in Dutch to her daughter-in-law and little black 
serving-girls. The side-dishes were Dutch, but though it is the 
fashion at the Cape to rail against Dutch cookery, we must 
honestly confess to a sincere relish for the old lady's " arrange- 
ments" of fish, flesh, and fowl. Our luggage was conveyed 



Inhabitants of Cape Town. 245 

upstairs by two Kafirs, whom the good Frau called **bad boys" 
for engaging in the last war ; but the poor fellows protested, 
with sweating anxiety, that they were not rebels, but had been 
** fighting for Queen Victoria." There are only a few Kafirs in 
Cape Town, and these are mainly Galeka prisoners, working 
on the breakwater. Seeing these able-bodied blacks, we 

• 

remarked to a bystander that the prisoners might rise any 
night and fire the town. " Oh," said he, with a languid yawn, 
** they're too lazy!" This breakwater is a necessity for the 
commercial well-being of the city, Table Bay being com- 
modious, but far from reliable. It faces the north, and in some 
winds becomes a raging sea. Many a goodly vessel has 
dragged anchor and been wrecked on its shores. 

One day the minister of the " Scotch Church " took us round 
to the Mission School connected therewith, presided over by 
another Scotsman. The scholars were composed of English, 
Scotch, Dutch, and coloured children. They sang some pieces 
to us very well, especially the part-song " Weel may the boatie 
row," a duet in which was performed by a Dutch girl and a 
Malay 1 The .Scotch Church is shaded by gum-trees, the 
sanitary properties of which are well known. The clergyman 
is often visited by the Malays, who ask for twigs of it to put 
in the coffins of their dead friends, and strew about the house. 
On Sunday I noticed that the ** minister's man " was an old 
grey-haired black, who went into the pulpit with all the solemn 
deportment associated with this honourable office, and looked 
well in his broadcloth surtout and white neck-tie. I sat next 
a black girl, who sang lustily, in a good soprano voice, the 
tunes of " St Asaph " and *' French," as if she had been a true- 
blue Presbyterian in Edinburgh or Glasgow. 

We gave eleven concerts in the Mutual Hall, the largest hall 
in Cape Town. The Scottish element was very strong in our 
audiences, and it was flatteringly told us that we had been the 
means of uniting our countrymen together, welding them, as it 
were, while under the watmth of Scottish sentiment and song. 
We had a good many Malays amongst our auditors, these 
people being exceedingly musical. In the evenings you hear 



246 Singing Round the World, 

their part songs, some of the fellows singing at their open 
windows, and now and again a string of them extending across 
the broad street and shouting ballads to the accompaniment of 
guitar and concertina. They have very quick ears, the latest, 
success of the concert-room being reproduced immediately in 
the streets of the Malay quarter. 

Table Mountain heaves itself up at you every moment of the 
day. In the heat and hurry of business you must perforce turn 
at the street-comer and have another look at it No one, to. 
see Table Mountain overhanging the city, towering up in the 
blue heavens, almost within stone's throw as it seems, would 
imagine it was on speaking terms with the clouds. But by- 
and-by you will see a tiny film of vapour steal out like an 
emanation from its granite front Then the clouds will surge 
round its base, lapping up in great tongues, or sun-lit flames of. 
mist The moisture-laden winds coming up from the south. 
and striking the mountain, condense on the lee side into that 
wonderful " table-cloth," — the only table-cloth that ever raised 
a human being above material things! The grand mass of 
shining cloud, white and resplendent, spreads itself like an 
immense ostrich feather along the flat ridge of the mountain — 
or again, will pour swiftly down the sheer granite precipices in 
a Niagara of vapour, then melts away ere it reaches the valley. 

The weather was warm, March being an autumn month at 
the Cape ; but vigorous breezes blew in from the sea. The 
climate is "an excellent Pick-me-up," as the townsfolks 
advertise it to the stranger. The breakfast-table was copiously 
supplied with grapes every morning, and Cape wine was also 
freely laid upon the table at dinner, attesting as much the 
cheapness of the article as the beneficence of our landlady. 
Grapes, too, met the eye at every street corner, sold by the fat 
Malay woman, who takes the place of the British " apple-wife." 
The climate enables people to adopt earlier hours than at 
home. I have seen young ladies, fashionably dressed, strolling 
along the Parade at half-past seven in the morning. The shops 
open at eight A.M., and shut at half-past five or six, so that 
there is no expense for lighting ; in fact, even in some of the 



An al fresco Laundry. 247 

lai^er stores, there is no gas laid on. One young lady told us 
she rose regfularly at five, had breakfast at half-past five, dined 
at eleven, supped at five, and went to bed at seven. She added 
that therefore she required a bottle of smelling-salts to keep 
herself awake at our concerts ! 

We had a pleasant walk round by the Kloof, the valley that 
separates the " Lion's Head" from the Table Mountain, and on 
the way, saw those unique " silver trees," whose glossy white 
leaves are so much prized for their beauty and rarity. Another 
walk we had was up to the "Plat Klip," or Flat Stone, a 
favourite pic-nic spot on the lower slopes of Table Mountain. 
To reach it, we had a stiff climb, following the course of a 
stream, shaded by trees, where all the clothes-washing of Cape 
Town is performed. This alfresco laundry is certainly a sight I 
For a mile and a-half up the channel were crowds of Malay 
women, washing clothes, banging them on the rocks, and 
scrubbing them with husks of Indian corn. Our way wound 
amongst the clothes, which lay everywhere. To parody 
Shakespeare, there were " shirts upon stones, socks in the run- 
ning brooks, petticoats on trees, and linen on everything." The 
bushes were covered thickly with fruit-hosiery. Such a clatter 
of tongues ! — a mile and a-half of women up to the knees in 
soapy water ! 

The suburbs of Cape Town are strung together by a line of 
railway which runs to Wynberg, eight miles distant To reach 
this you pass a succession of delightful villa-villages. The 
prettiest is Rondebosch, lying at the back of Tabic Mountain^ 
amongst vineyards and orchards. A most pleasant day was 
spent here with a nest of genuine-hearted Scotch people. We 
joined them in a climb to the Waterfall, which trickles over a 
glistening wall of rock lying between the Table and the Devil's 
Peak, and returned by way of the Block House, on the corner 
of the range — a dismantled fort, erected by the Dutch in former 
days as a kind of military signal-station. Near Wynberg is 
Constantia, famed for its wines. In these suburban retreats 
you find the luxurious architecture one expects in warm climates. 
Elegance commences outside of Cape Town. 



248 Singi7ig Round the World. 

We had a fifty hours' sail from Cape Town tb Port Elizabeth. 
The passengers were landed in surf-boats. The swell was 
great, and the process of landing rather exciting. The leading 
oarsman stood up and faced the shore, shouting out his orders 
to the men : "Steady! — pull I Let this big roarer get past us I* 
and the fellows rested till the roller foamed past Then, with a 
spurt, they sent the boat flying into the broken water, and 
brought us to the wharf steps. 

Port Elizabeth, or Algoa Bay, or '*the Bay,*' as it is familiarly 
called, has a very sandy site, on hills that rise almost 
immediately from the Bay. There is a narrow strip of flat 
ground between them and the shore, and on this the business 
part is built. The dwelling-houses are all " on the Hill," the 
fashionable quarter, which is much cooler, and away from the 
sand and dust 

Despite the lack of harbour, and the barrenness of the sur- 
rounding country. Port Elizabeth is progressing — so much so, 
that it has been called the Liverpool of South Africa. It is a 
community of merchants and clerks, busily working between 
steamers on the one hand, and bullock-drays on the other. 
Going about its streets, you are surprised at the newness and 
elegance of the public buildings. There is a fine open square, 
one side of which is formed by the Town Hall. We gave five 
concerts in this, the finest hall in South Africa, and capable of 
seating one thousand people. The buildings, which include an 
Athenaeum and a library, cost ;£"30,ooo. In this public square 
utility dominates over beauty, as it is used every morning for 
the sale of firewood, and all kinds of produce. As each 
waggon has a span of fourteen or sixteen oxen, and as there 
are between twenty and thirty waggons, you can sometimes 
see as many as 400 bullocks standing in the square. 

Scotch people abound in Port Elizabeth, and I had quite a 
lively time of it on my first run round the town — shaking 
hands with this Glasgow merchant ; being introduced to this 
Edinburgh bookseller, and that Aberdeen chemist ; and saying 
" Hoo's a' wi' ye" to many friendly Scotch "chappies," who 
blithely answered " Brawly." 



Wild Beasts of South Africa, 249 

If Cape Town has its Malays, Port Elizabeth has its Kafirs, 
— Kafirs to brush your boots, Kafirs to carry your port- 
manteau, Kafirs to load drays, Kafirs to turn the printing- 
machine ; and, above all, Kafirs to unload the lighters in the 
surf! Dozens of nude Kafirs stride out into the breakers, and 
come back staggering in the foam, each with a heavy sack or 
box upon his head. Now and then you will see eight or nine 
Kafirs, with an immense case or bale upon their shoulders, 
wading to shore with uniform rhythm of body. At night, the 
surf breaks in lovely phosphorescencj — a line of fairy fire, of 
<lelightful shimmering green. 

Our route lay now towards Grahamstown, eighty-four miles 
•eastward, which, with the exception of a short cart ride, was 
accomplished by rail. A friend pointed out to us the various 
objects of interest **Lots of elephants there!" — but not a 
single elephant broke crashing through the scrub. "That 
poort is full of panthers!" — but I believe a babe might have 
travelled it safely. "These forests are infested with monkeys!" 
— but not a tail was visible. ** Lots of boks over there !*' — but 
not a bok. I am afraid that one must swallow the wild beasts 
•of South Africa with a grain of salt ! The line crosses the 
Zuurveld Ranges, and the views from the summit appeared 
absolutely boundless. You had the idea of there being land 
to spare for thousands of people, and could imagine the 
Crovernment saying temptingly to intending immigrants : 
* Come ! and you shall have a whole mountain to yourself, and 
all your little ones a hill a-piece !" 

Grahamstown is dinned into your ears everywhere as the 
"prettiest town in the colony." It is situated amongst softly 
swelling hills ; the streets are lined with trees, and have a 
mature, long-settled appearance. The people have an air of 
leisure and respectability ; trade may be bad, trade may be 
food, but they remain calm, content to live by themselves and 
for themselves. We thought them very nice people indeed, 
and as an audience, found them cultured and sympathetic. 
Grahamstown was named after the son of Graham of Fintry, 
the friend of Burns. An interesting sight was the Kafir kraal 

Q 



250 Singing Round the World. 

just outside the town. It was amusing to see my father going 
in and out of the huts, talking to the old crones, telling them 
that he had " eleven bairns," to their great amusement One 
girl spoke to us in English very nicely. She took us into her 
hut where lay her sick husband. They were both Christians, 
he being the preacher in the native church close by. All the 
furniture in the hut was ranged round the wall, and a fire 
blazed in the centre of the floor. Bairns and dogs pidyed 
about the huts — the dogs seeming to have a more human look 
about them than those pf white folks. The children were 
naked, but upon the approach of a stranger, instinctively 
sought the nearest rag. Tobacco was not unasked for by the 
natives, and the voice of silver spoke as potently in the kraal 
as in the counting-house. 

At Grahamstown our country travel virtually commenced. 
Acting on the advice of an energetic and attentive friend, we 
had bought a " Cape cart " down at " the Bay," and brought it 
on here by rail. This was a kind of heavy two-wheeled gfig^ 
with a canvas hood, and it could carry six persons. We 
purchased four horses here, with second-hand harness, for £\QO^ 
— the cart cost £2\, and was a pure bargain, being when new» 
worth £70. There remained the question of a driver. Our 
energetic friend suggested Jappy, a Malay, as the best man for 
our purpose. Our safety and comfort depended on ** Jappy ;** 
the Diamond Fields were not practicable without " Jappy ;" 
the whole success of our Cape tour spelt " Jappy." The by- 
streets of Port Elizabeth echoed to the calls for " Jappy." At 
last the paragon was unearthed ; but then it was discovered 
there was a Mrs. Jappy, who would not let her husband risk 
his life on any such expedition. Then Saul, a " Cape Town 
boy," was proclaimed by our friend as the only fit successor to 
Jappy. We got a telegram from Port Elizabeth at the last 
moment, stating that Saul had missed the train to Grahams- 
town. But he came on by the night mail, and had a weary 
tramp of twelve miles, carrying his portmanteau, from the 
railway station in the early morning. He appeared in town 
just as we were ready to start, and took his seat breakfastless 



Modes of Travel. 251 

oh the box. He was about fifty years of age, and had been 
lamed in a coach accident We paid him £2 a week, besides 
his board and lodging ; but then he had been taught driving as 
a profession, and was said to be one of the best ** whips " in 
the colony. 

We travelled with a minimum of luggage ; indeed, no 
professional company had ever been seen with so little. We 
had, with great reluctance, left our small travelling piano in 
Cape Town ; yet folks said, — " Mr. Kennedy, what a load you 
carry!" "What? there's only this trunk and this brown 
paper parcel." "Yes, but you're forgetting the two rugs!" 
This feeling arises from the people in South Africa travelling 
by the little mail-cart, where passenger luggage is only less 
limited than if you had to send it by post. Friends recom- 
mended us to travel by bullock-dray ; it was slow, but very 
comfortable. The overwhelming advice, however, was in 
favour of a mule-waggon. Oh, mules were so steady and 
reliable — lived on nothing, and could do anything ! " If you 
will have horses, hire !" But we advise any party, professional 
or otherwise, to buy their own team and cart ; for if you 
" make an arrangement " with a man to take you round, you 
will not keep your appointments, spend more money, and not 
be master of your own movements. 

Leaving Grahamstown, we had at first rather tame country, 
which, however, is a mine of wealth to the botanist, the Cape 
being unsurpassed for variety and beauty of heath and shrub. 
We ** outspanned " after going a few miles. This is as im- 
perative in Cape travelling as if it were a religious observance. 
You must rest your team every twelve miles or so. Outspan- 
ning consists in " knee-haltering " the horses, that is, tying up 
one of the forelegs to the head with a " rein," or strip of hide. 
The horse can feed and roll, but it is prevented straying very 
far. It is a most ludicrous sight to see a lot of horses turned 
out in this way to grass, their heads all gravely nodding assent 
to the appeal of their front leg ! After letting our team graze 
on the veldt for an hour, we tried to " inspan," but the halters 
had not been tied short enough, and the animals could not be 



252 Singing Round tlie World. 

caught They dashed into a dense scrub, some six or seven 
feet high, and we lost them and ourselves in it for twenty 
minutes. With the assistance of two Kafir bullock drivers, we 
ultimately got the horses harnessed, and the day's stage was 
accomplished without further mishap. 

The night was spent at a little inn owned by Mrs. Watson, 
an old Welshwoman, 85 years of age. She was the only one 
in these parts who did not fly into town during the late native 
risings. She used to go out every night with a big cudgel, and 
" beat up " the cow-sheds and stables for hidden Kafirs. But 
the good old lady bore most grudge at the volunteers who 
were quartered here, *' turning her house upside down and 
breaking her chairs." Here we met an old Irishman, a 
** kurvehr" or carrier, who was very warm on the Kafir question 
— a subject that crops up sooner or later in all colonial conver- 
sation. He was a twinkling-eyed, grisly-faced old fellow. 
" Educate the Kafir as much as you like," said he ; " a Kafir he 
is, and a Kafir he'll be to the end." If the " kurvehr " had been 
less cheerful and humorous, his remarks would not have 
sounded so grim. " I'm an old soldier ! " he cried. " My sons 
were both in this war, and I'm proud to see in this South 
Africa of ours that the sons can hold the land their fathers 
have struggled and died for." 

We left the smiling old lady and her cosy inn, early next 
morning, accompanied by the old Irishman in his trap, who 
vowed to race us into King William's Town. He had two 
most disreputable-looking horses, but his whip went like a 
lamb's tail all the way. Up and down hill he jolted in his 
light canvas-topped cart, that oscillated for all the world 
like a concertina, his weather-beaten, rollicking face peeping 
round every now and then to see how far we were behind, and 
a loud '* Begorrra!" being followed by renewed lashings of his 
sweating team. His pair were no match for our four, and we 
soon left him in the rear. 

And so we were on the Veldt ! Like the Bush of Australia, 
it is unique. Nothing describes it so well as that Dutch word 
veldt, or field. It is the grassy, untimbered country forming 



On the Veldt, 253 

so lai^e a portion of these Cape lands. So little of it is under 
cultivation that, roughly speaking, it may be said to be un- 
titled ; and it is wholly unfenced, which gives it even more 
expanse. Little breaks the prospect except an occasional 
bullock-waggon with its accompanying pillar of dust, a slow- 
flapping crow, a swift-darting wild cat, or the hideous " aas- 
vogel " vulture hoyering over a dead ox. You may travel for 
miles in many parts and not meet a vehicle or see a house. 
Heavy rains had fallen not long before our journey, and had 
clothed the landscape in verdure. The broad spreading veldt, 
undulating in soft billows, mile upon mile, like a sea of living 
green, stretched as it were to a distant coast-line of mountains 
on the horizon — the grand range of the Anatolas. We were 
told that so much grass might not be seen again for years. It 
was not so nice, after viewing this verdant landscape, to go into 
town and have to drink condensed milk, or "condemned milk" 
as the Kafir waiter " pronounced " it 

At mid-day we rested at another small inn. The Kafir 
groom was drunk, and the landlady, running angrily into the 
stable, seized the fellow by the coat-collar and flung him 
sprawling into the yard. He picked himself up, half stunned, 
put on his old soldier's coat, and slouched ofl* to his hut 
** Thafs the way to treat the divils," exclaimed the Irish 
** kurvehr," who this moment came up, jolly as ever. Round 
this inn there had been some severe fighting in the late war, in 
which the landlady's son had taken part. He told me he 
remained in the hotel, with a few faithful blacks during the 
war. One day he was attacked by 1200 natives, who poured 
over the hill close by, their coloured blankets making them 
look " like a swarm of red ants." The little company would 
have been killed but for the timely arrival of the Diamond 
Fields Horse, who soon routed the enemy. When the war 
broke out, the folks of the inn had to pack up the whole of 
their household goods, and take refuge in King William's 
Town for eight months. "That piano there, that Miss 
Kennedy is playing on, has been on a dray six times," said 



254 



Singing Round lite World. 



one of the daughters, who was a member of the King William's 
Town Choral Society. 

The road from here runs on high ground. The country was 
thickly dotted with native huts, like mole-hills, the Kafirs in 
their red blankets stalking picturesquely through their fields of 




high Indian corn. When they met us on the road, they never 
failed to salute my father with " Good morning, baas " — the 
Dutch word for master, corrupted by the Yankees into " boss." 
On crossing the bridge into King William's Town, we were 
almost run into by a crowd of drunken Kafir horsemen who, 
after their Saturday afternoon carouse, were galloping madly 
home. 

We sang in the Town Hall, which is frescoed with Scottish 
scenes, "The Birks o' Abcrfeldy," " Ailsa Craig," and others. 
Our tickets were sold at a shop which was a tobacconist's at 
one counter and a Bible warehouse at the other. At the hall- 
door the receipts comprised large numbers of threepenny 



Kiyig William's Town. 255 

pieces, with holes bored in them, which I thought at first were 
sentimental love-tokens, but found out afterwards were Kafir 
ear-rings, which the impecunious natives had to part with after 
the Galeka Rising. 

We found that the Superintendent of Police here, an Irish- 
man, had Burns' works at his finger-ends, had a number of 
Bums-relics, had written essays on the poet, and was an enthu- 
siastic admirer of Scottish song. There is a large amount of 
Scottish feeling in this town, which finds a rallying point in the 
^Kaffrarian Caledonian Society." We were told there was once 
a capital piper here, a good fellow, who was not always to be 
relied upon — in short, he " got fou " occasionally. At the Scot- 
tish Festival one year, poor " Sandy " was amissing, and great 
. consternation prevailed, as there was no one to " play in " the 
haggis! The town was searched, and the invaluable piper 
at length discovered in the " tronk," or jail. He was in on an- 
other " barley-bree " charge. So at the banquet the hat went 
swiftly round, the fine was paid, and Sandy was promptly re- 
leased and brought to the festive table, where he never played 
better in his life 1 

We met here a venerable old man, late colour-sergeant of a 
Highland regiment His stern brow, firm-set mouth, and 
storm-beaten, war-worn features, told a tale of strife and hard- 
ship. It was most striking to see the veteran soldier when he 
glowed with reminiscences of " auld Scotland," or the " auld 
Scots sangs." His face beamed with pleasant memories, his 
mouth relaxed into a smile, and in his sparkling eye you might 
have seen a glistening tear. You could not imagine it was the 
same old man who had a few minutes before told you some 
ghastly tale of Kafir war. He had been in all the native ris- 
ings, and " pooh-poohed " the last war as " naething," compared 
to those of the early days. 

" Ay, they were the fechts lang syne," he said to us one day, 
and then told the following incident : — " Ye see, we was camp- 
in' oot, an' there had been nae Kafirs seen for days ; so anither 
man and me gaed oot to cut grass for forage, an' I, being the 
sergeant, rode the captain's horse. Aboot twa or three miles 



256 Singhig Round tJie World. 

frae the camp, I tied the horse to a tree, an' my ncebour began 
to cut the grass. I was tyin* up the bundles, when I heard a 
voice, speakin' in Engh'sh, shout, * Stand ! ' I looks up through 
the long grass, an there's a Kafir wi' a gun pointed at me, an' I 
could see there was anither man wi' a gun ahint him. I cried 
to my companion, * Come here ! ' He had a heuk [sickle]. We 
had nae fire-arms ; I hadna even a pen-knife. When I was 
comin* awa frae the camp, I was puttin' my skene dhu on ; but 
a sodger lauched, an' said there was naebody within miles, so 
I left it. Weel, the Kafir cam' on, so I dodged and joukit him, 
to spile his aim. He fired, an' missed me. I made a dash 
syne, an' catched his gun, an' we wrestled a while. He was 
the biggest, but I could whirl him aboot like a dog. I was 
terrified I wad expose mysel' to the shot o' the man behint 
him. I wrestled, kecpin' the Kafir's body between me an' the 
ither man. I cried to my comrade : * Bring your heuk ! * but 
he stood paralyzed. Then I gied a twist, an' tore the gun cot 
o' the Kafir's hand, an' hit him a clash on the jaws with the 
butt-end, knockit him doon, an' was tryin' to finish him off 
when he rowed awa' like an oiled ba' through the grass, an' I 
lost him. The ither Kafir made for the horse tied to the tree. 

* Bring the heuk !' I cried. 'He'll shoot me,' said my comrade. 

* Shoot !' said I, *he wad miss a hay-stack.' The Kafir edged 
towards the horse, keepin' the muzzle of the gun pointin' to 
me. * My man,' says I, * ye'll get me afore you get the horse.* 
So I rushed up to the beast, an' stood in front of it, he aimin' 
at me. * Bring the heuk !* I cried again ; but my neebor stood 
still. Then the Kafir pointed his piece at me, an* I zig-zagged 
myscl' before the horse, ye ken ; an* watchin' my chance, 
dashed at him, an' catched the loaded gun. * Bring the heuk!' 
but no, my frien' wadna move. An* we wrestled, an' wrestled, 
till unluckily the muzzel of the gun cam* near my side. The 
dccvil of a Kafir had the sense to pu' the trigger, an' the shot 
gacd through my loins ; but I hung on to him, an* tore the gun 
frae him. * Bring the heuk !' but the Kafir flew awa' like the 
wind. I fand the blude rinnin' into my shoon. I tore up my 
sark, an' tied it round my body, an' took some grass, an' 



A Highland Serenade. 257 

chowed it) an' put it into the twa holes. Then I took the horse 
firae the tree, leapt on its back, an' cried to my neebor, * Jump 
on !' * No,' says he, * I'll follow.' For I began to think the twa 
Kafirs werena their lane, an' I thocht the whole body wad be 
doon. * Hing on to the horse's tail, then,' says I ; an' off we 
started like a shot He let go — * I'll follow ye,' an my beast 
galloped like mad into the camp. I was put into bed, an' men 
sent back for my comrade. They got him lyin' in the grass^ 
wi' three assegais in him — ane in his briest, an' ane in each 
side — deadr 

We left King William's Town in the very early morning, 
and had gone about a mile when we heard the far-off strains of 
the bagpipe. We drove along the lonely road, and coming up, 
found the dear old Highland sergeant parading amongst the 
mimosa bushes, and playing a farewell pibroch in honour of 
the Kennedys. The tune was certainly not "Up in the 
Momin's no for Me I" He was dressed in Highland costume, 
and had his face tied up in a handkerchief, as the air was 
biting cold. The passing Kafir might well stop, astonished at 
the sight and sound. We drew up, and the good old soul 
shook hands with Us warmly, bringing out a mysterious flask 
for a " deoch an' dorras," giving each of us a Scotch " farl," and 
presenting my sisters with his photograph. We thanked 
him heartily for his unique and delightful serenade ; he wished 
OS *' God speed ;" and we drove off again as he resumed the 
pibroch, our hearts warmed beyond measure by his kindly act* 



258 Singing Round t]ie World. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

Xiovedale Kafir Institution — Crossing the Kat Berg — Barghersdorp— The Oiiii0e 
River — A Boer Family — Bloemfontein — ^A Dopper NachtmaaL 

We journeyed from King William's Town thirty-two miles to 
Alice. Being the Queen's Birthday, the little village was alive 
with merry-making. The public common was crowded with 
Kafirs and Whites, all in holiday attire — the black fellows 
dressed smartly, the black girls gay in their Sunday ribbons — 
every one happy and enjoying the sports. The day closed 
with a superb sunset — the sky suifused with the most gentle 
gradations of tender hues, and in the midst of the fading glory 
a golden crescent moon with one close attendant star. 

We sang here in the largest building we could get — a 
miscellaneous store. The counter made a tolerably good 
platform, though it was amusing to see ** Terms Cash " in a 
bold semi-circle above our heads. The seats were planks 
resting on paraffin-cases. As a rule, we did not feel the want 
of our travelling-piano in these small towns, an instrument 
being generally lent us by the magistrate or hotel-keeper. At 
Alice wc kindly got the use of one from the English clergy- 
man. I had some difficulty in mustering " boys " to carry the 
piano to the store. Scouring the village, I reached a 
disreputable canteen, where I picked out five of the soberest 
Kafirs — wild-looking, noisy fellows, in old tattered coats, and 
one of them in a tiger's skin. How reluctant I felt at invading 
a quiet vicarage with such a band of jabbering savages ! 

We took advantage of being at Alice, to visit the famed 
Kafir institution of Lovedale, which originated in 1823 as a 
small mission-station and was named after Dr. Love, one of 
the early founders of the London and Glasgow Missionary 
Societies. Dr. Stewart has been Principal since 1870. The 
institution lies about a mile from the village of Alice, and is 



Lavedale Institution. 259 

<:harmingly situated. Going along a shady avenue and through 

<a considerable orchard, you come in view of the buildings. 

They comprise class-rooms, lecture-room, dormitories, dining- 

liall, and workshops — all plain, but neat They well typify the 

-c:ommon-sense regime that obtains within their walls. The 

teachers of the institution are principally from Aberdeen. 

There were last year 309 pupils — 153 were boarders, of whom 

-eighteen were European boys. Handicrafts and education 

liere go hand in hand, and close at hand. One's mind gets 

-lull of deal-planks and spelling-books, anvils and desks, pens 

rsmd tenpenny nails. The clang of the blacksmith answers the 

problem in geometry ; the carpenter's sawing blends with the 

Geological course. 

Two unassuming Kafir students were introduced to us — one 
the minister of the Kafir church — both well versed in Greek 
.and Hebrew, and studying Church History. We were taken 
through the various class-rooms, where are taught mathematics, 
logic, English composition, and arithmetic. To the latter class 
my father humourously propounded the well-worn problem : 
^* A herrin' an' a half for three bawbees, how mony for eleven- 
pence?" The Kafir boys laughed, and promptly gave the 
answer. It was certainly simpler than the curriculum-question 
put to them : " What vulgar fraction is equivalent to the sum 
of 14*4 and 1*44 divided by their diflTerence?" We passed 
through room after room, seeing the black boys and girls busy 
at reading, writing, and spelling ; also the girls' industrial 
^department, where as many as two hundred articles of clothing 
are made in a year. Then there were Kafir carpenters, 
waggon-makers, blacksmiths, and lastly, Kafir printers ; for 
Lovedale has three newspapers : the Lovedale News^ Christian 
Express^ and a paper in the Kafir language, to all which the 
pupils contribute. 

We were invited to dinner at the institution. The dining- 
room is a large hall, at one end of which is 'a slightly raised 
table allotted to the teachers, visitors, and most of the white 
-boarders. The larger part of the room is occupied by three 
rows of tables, at which the natives sit, and one or two 



26o Singing Round the World. 

European boys. These tables are not all uniform in character. 
There is a " ;£^20 table " of white boarders, who get ** all the 
vegetables," and the same stewed " mealies " as the black boys» 
but with the addition of gravy from the £/^o table, which is tiie 
raised and select table already mentioned. At the £\o table 
some half-dozen Kafirs sit, upon whom a harsh yoke is 
imposed, — they are compelled to wear a collar. The majority 
of the black boys occupy the £6 tables. These are not 
compelled to wear a collar, and they do not The pupils come 
to the institution in whatever European clothes they can 
command — some of it rather faded and frayed, perhaps, but 
the general effect is better than if the boys were clad in any 
distinctive uniform. The Kafir pupils dine off stewed mealies 
alone, as healthy a dish as Scotch porridge. 

The only Kafir at the teacher's table was John Knox Bokwe^ 
one of the most cultured natives we have met He is Dr. 
Stewart's right-hand man, and said to be one of the best book- 
keepers in South Africa. He has been offered a large salary 
by leading merchants, but prefers to remain in Lovedale, with 
which he has had a life-long connection. He has a tenor 
voice, and leads the Kafir choir of the Kafir church. Among 
his other accomplishments is that of musical composition ; and 
he presented us with an original manuscript duet, the penman- 
ship of which was irreproachable. He writes and harmonises 
melodies for the Kafir psalms, that language requiring a special 
adaptation of tune. On Sunday we attended the little native 
church of Lovedale, and heard a sermon in English by one of 
the teachers, which was translated into Kafir with much feeling 
by John Knox. We were much struck with the singing. One 
of the pieces was a strange composition — the first Kafir hymn 
ever written — words and music being the composition of a 
convert in the earliest days of South African missionary effort 
It has a simple pathos of its own, and we were told that no 
Kafir congregation can sing this hymn without shedding tears. 
The voices of these Lovedale Kafirs were very full and 
melodious. And such bass ! It moved along like the tones of 
a violoncello, going to depths seldom heard in European choirs. 



Kafir Singing. 261 

These Kafirs were actually singing down to C below the stave 
(bass clef). The language I may remark, is largely printed 
phonetically. The only difficulty lies in the "clicks," which 
are represented by " c," " q," and " x ; " " c " being made by 
pressing the tongue against the teeth, as when one is slightly 
annoyed, while " q '* is a " cluck," and " x " like the " chick " 
made to start a horse. It was peculiar to hear the three 
hundred of a congregation " clicking " together. The whole 
service was most interesting. Next day we had the further 
satisfaction of hearing the Lovedale pupils, under the baton of 
John Knox Bokwe, sing secular music in the lecture room. 
We enjoyed above all the characteristic "Kafir Wedding 
Song." In return we sang them some glees, and my father's 
rendering of "Allister Macallister" tickled the Kafirs im- 
mensely. The institution is a success, and not the least 
compliment that can be paid to it is, that the colonists, who 
are in the habit of deriding missionary eflTorts, view it with 
respect Such organisations as this, with its happy combina- 
tion of study and manual labour, must sooner or later effect 
good amongst the Kafir tribes. 

There was an interesting assembly one night in the little 
hotel parlour at Alice. A number of farmers and towns-folk 
were fraternising, and song and laugh were going round. A 
jolly old Dutchman, with rogueish eyes and a long clay pipe, 
sat at the head of the table, and trolled out " Willie brew'd a 
peck o' maut," with all the rollick of a Mynheer van Dunck. 
Then a discussion broke out as to the distance from Alice to 
Fort Beaufort, our next stage. The want of mile-stones is 
aggravated by the fact that the folks measure the distance by 
hours. For instance, they speak of such and such a place 
being three hours oflF, when they mean eighteen miles. The 
colonial pace is six miles an hour; if, with British energy, 
you go more than that, you get out of your reckoning at once. 
High waxed that discussion at the Alice hotel. " It's two 
hours to Fort Beaufort," said one man. "No!" burst in 
another, a tall fine fellow, and well-known hero of Kafir wars ; 
" no ! it's two hours and three quarters by cart, for it took me 



262 Singing Round the World. 

an hour and a-halPs hard riding when I used to go and see my 
sweetheart ; and no man will gallop quicker than a fellow ia 
love !" So we took the amorous swain's reckoning, and found 
it right 

At Fort Beaufort, a clean, well-situated town, we gave one 
concert ; and next morning, following our usual habit of early 
starts, left at half-past six, without breakfast We travelled 
fourteen miles, in the cold eager air, to a wayside inn. Dense 
mist lay massed in the hollows ; but the rising sun dispelled it, 
and the heights flushed deep crimson, while the twigs of the 
mimosa thorns sparkled with a thousand rainbow-coloured 
gems of dew. We started another fourteen-mile stage, whiling 
away the time by practising glees. The passing Kafir driver 
stayed his massive bullock-whip, and the Kafir g^rl paused 
astonished, with her pitcher on her head, to hear the unusual 
strains of SpoflForth and of Danby ! 

This was a hard day's stage, as it included the crossing of 
the great Katberg, a formidable ascent, eight miles long. My 
father, sisters, and I walked the whole of this hill. If we had 
not done so, I believe the team would never have reached the 
top. Now we were full in the blaze of the hot noon sun. 
Turning a corner, we would be in the depths of a dark dell, 
with cold damp air, and mountain streams trickling down the 
rugged face of the naked rocks — the slopes below us and the 
ridges above us clad in rich vegetation, and out of the trees the 
shepherd-bird, the sun-bird, and the Cape canary, answering 
each other from height to height Then round the road would 
swing again into glorious brightness and openness, and far 
below us lying a silent sunny world of hill and vale. The 
highest part of the road is a bleak, desolate spot, blown bare 
by the wind, and called the Devil's Bellows. Here we stood 
6000 feet above the sea level, having taken a big step up 
towards that great central plateau, which is the chief physical 
feature of the country. South Africa has been compared to an 
inverted saucer, as the land rises whenever you strike in from 
the seaboard. 

By nightfall we beheld the cheerful lights of an inn. The 



A Cockney HoteUKeeper. 263 

house was kept by a full-blown Cockney, who dabbled in 

music, and played the first violin parts of several of Rossini's 

overtures — a treat to hear in the wilderness ! He hated the 

Kafirs because they stole cattle. " Your cattle ?" " No-0-0,. 

not hexactly, but they do steal cattle." And he had a profound 

contempt for the Boers. " The Dutch," said he, " are such a 

higgemant lot ! I've tried *em with my hovertures, but it was 

no good. What do they know about Roseheeny, or H'auber, 

or any of them fellows? When two or three Dutch gets 

together, they don't say nothingk for a long while, but drinks 

tiieir gin an' water ; an' when they do hopen their mouths, it's 

about hoxen ! " And, oh I how he swelled indignant over the 

y9rzy the missionaries are contaminating the natives ! "They're 

playing the very devil with them. I had a raw Kafir, as civil 

a fellow as you could meet Well, he got into the 'ands of a 

missionary, and now, when that Kafir meets me, he hactually 

doesn't take off his 'at to me !" And he kicked the roaring 

wood-fire to give vent to his wounded dignity. 

The fire was a necessity. It was very cold here, the inn 
standing so high and on so bleak country. A week or two 
before, the road had been almost impassable with deep snow,. 
and the mail-cart had stuck on the Katberg, while a man had 
been frozen to death on the hill at the back of the hotel. This 
was the beginning of June — the winter season — which, in the 
less elevated parts of Cape Colony, is like an English spring, 
innocent of snow, and with only a slight touch of frost in the 
very early morning. When we started next morning, at half- 
past six, there was frost on the ground. People at home 
would hardly credit that "Afric's sunny fountains" now and 
then are frozen up. The wheels of our cart crashed through 
many a thin sheet of ice before we reached our first outspan. 
By that time the frost had vanished, and the sun's power made 
one take off greatcoat, muffler, and gloves. Our drivcr^s hands 
were dead with cold more than once, and my father held the 
reins while poor Saul blew on his fingers to warm them. One 
of our team had been ill ever since leaving Fort Beaufort, 
Horse-sickness being very prevalent in the Cape winter. 



264 Si7iging Roimd the World. 

Latterly the cart was being drawn by three horses, the invalid 
refusing to haul an ounce. How glad we were to sight 
Queenstown! The previous day we had travelled forty-two 
miles, this day forty-three — eighty-five in all — and sang that 
night as fresh as the proverbial lark we had risen with in the 
mornings. 

Queenstown is a lively centre, and does a great deal of busi- 
ness in the way of sending goods up country. Half-an-hour 
after our arrival we were surrounded by a group of seven or 
eight worthy Scots, who had noticed the " strange cart " com- 
ing into the town, and knew it was **the Kennedys." We gave 
three concerts here, and the warm reception we met with more 
than rewarded us for the toil of the journey. We found in 
South Africa, as in the other colonies, that English and other 
nationalities highly appreciated Scottish song. We met with 
several instances of how enthusiastic Scottish feeling exists in 
the midst of colonial life, which, with its prosaic features and 
struggle after material wealth, is not always the best conserver 
of national sentiment This feeling is apt to become eccentric, 
as was the case with the Scotsman of King William's Town, 
who had a portrait of Mary Queen of Scots hung in his bed- 
room, and who, every morning on rising, stretched his hands 
towards it, crying, " Oh, my poor murdered queen ! '* Once we 
overheard an enthusiast saying : " * My Ain Fireside,' * Ye 
Banks an' Braes,* * The Land o' the Leal,' — eh ! a body could 
be fit to gang to heaven hearing thae sangs sung." And was 
ever love of country more strongly expressed than in the case 
of the Fort Beaufort Scotsman, who exclaimed : " Gude save 
us, I'd raither gang hame an' be hanged than dee here a na- 
tural death ! " 

Our sick horse, which originally cost £2^, was left with a 
friend here — a few weeks after it fetched £\^ — and we bought 
another animal for £\o. It was a Boer's horse — a rough- 
coated brute, out of condition through long grazing on the 
veldt But "the Government" was buying up all the good 
horses for the Natal War, and private purchasers had to go to 
the wall. Our journey still lay northward ; wc had been travel- 



Mcltcno, 26 



f 



linc^ towards the interior ever since leaving King William's 
Town. The first day from Queenstown, vvc stopped at the 
hamlet of Molteno, — two dozen houses at most, with an upper 
and a lower ten very pronounced, and half-a-dozen rival creeds 
finding room to flourish. The innkeeper was a Scotsman, who 
had been so long in the colony that his nationality was nearly 
washed out of him. He was in sore trouble of mind. " This 
isn't life," he said ; " it's naething but a weary drag." He was 
distressed also by the fact that he had to treat the Kafirs one 
way, while his conscience prompted another. "The beggars 
steal my sheep, and I've got to be firm with them. I want to 
be kind to the fellows ; I know it's our duty to do so, to teach 
them what's right, and " 

" He's off with the brandy-bottle ! " cried the wife, bursting 
into the parlour ; and then there was a noisy hunt in the dark 
night after a dim figure, round out-houses and sheep-kraals, 
till the Kafir was caught, and the " three-star" recovered. The 
fellow was released : "I'm not going all those miles to Aliwal 
North to prosecute him," said the innkeeper. His wife had her 
troubles also. She told us that the Africanders (the colonial- 
bom) were so lazy, that the young ladies never would soil their 
hands with household work ; but she was going to have her 
own way, so she had set her children to work about the house. 
One afternoon, she said, the girls at the Sunday School were 
put through their facing. "Your hands all clean?" asked the 
lady-superintendent. " Anna Maria! " (the landlady's daughter) 
"your parents are in a good position, and yet your mother 
makes you work like a Kafir ; your hands are large, coarse, and 
not fit to be seen 1" In the morning, at the hotel door, we met 
an itinerant Dutch minister, who went about the country 
places, Sundays and week-days, stirring up the people. Shak- 
ing hands with us, he said : " How glad I am to hear your 
mother-tongue again ! I thank God for the five years I spent 
in Marischal College, Aberdeen." 

Old Saul had not fared very well here. When we arrived, 
he was suffering from excruciating toothache, caused by sleep- 
ing in the cart the night before. He got sixpence to buy 

R 



266 Singing Round the World, 

himself some brandy, but was .sent out of the bar, and told to 
go " to the bac^." The upshot was, my father had to go and 
buy the brandy for him, — the landlord explaining that he had 
his licence on the condition that he allowed no KaBr in the 
bar. SauFs " bedroom,*' too, in an outhouse, was not much 
better than a pig-stye; but on our protesting against such 
treatment, he was allowed, as a great favour, to sleep on the 
kitchen floor. 

Breakfast at the country inns invariably consisted of chops 
or steak, we latterly sighed for the ubiquitous ham-and-e^s of 
Australian and New Zealand inns ! Then there would be sour 
home-made loaves, and weak tea sweetened with coarse sugar. 
We always carried with us a tin box of " Huntly & Palmer" 
those missionaries of food in a benighted land of bad bread. 
In this country there is no direct charge made for stabling. 
You pay for " forage," which consists of small oat-sheaves sold 
at a shilling or eighteenpence each. Our four horses used to 
cost us from thirty to thirty-five shillings a-day. 

A tempest was blowing when we left Molteno. There were 
some miles of absolute desert to cross — an open plain of sand, 
through which the horses struggled painfully. Wc got out, 
and staggered along, holding each other's hands to steady our- 
selves. We could not sec more than a yard in front of us, as 
the sand rose in blinding whirls. The road by-and-by had the 
shelter of some hills, covered with flocks of sheep : numbers of 
white merino sheep, and the strange Cape sheep, that have a 
thick broad flap in place of a tail. Goats too, were browsing 
on the many rocky " krantzcs *' or cliffs. Later in the day, we 
saw the distant Stormberg Mountains, that shone in the setting 
sun as if they were in a red-hot glow, gradually cooling in the 
dusk, and becoming a cold black mass. 

We found it thirty-six miles from Molteno to Burghersdorp, 
a pretty little town, its quiet streets lined with shade-trees, 
filled with twittering birds, while goats roamed peacefully 
about its quiet squares. Alighting at the hotel, we found the 
public were not expecting us, punctuality not being a charac- 
teristic of professional parties in this colony. We had this 



A Queer Editor, 267 

experience more than once. The dialogue generally ran as 
follows : — " What ! you have arrived ? " " Of course ; don't 
the bills give the date? " " Oh, but we didn't think you'd be 
coming till to-morrow." " Well," we would say, " here we are, 
determined not to disappoint the public." "You're not going 
to sing to-night, are you ? It's four in the afternoon : you'll 
never have the hall ready." But we would set to work, and 
borrow chairs from half-a-dozen stores, forms from the churches, 
seats from Masonic and Good Templar lodges, and lamps from 
the hotel, making a platform of two or three tables. The 
general opinion was that we were "rushing" the country, and 
certainly no professional party ever went over the ground 
faster. But while we did not linger, we did full justice 
to every town. To make South Africa " pay," you must keep 
your dates close together, and keep them religiously, as can 
only be done by arranging a route, after careful study of the 
map. This is a very awkward country to travel through pro- 
fessionally, the distances between important towns are so 
great, and population so sparse. 

I cannot leave Burghersdorp without saying that it possesses 
the most wonderful person we ever met — an editor who would 
not take payment for the advertisement in his paper, saying he 
would not do so, as he had been so delighted at having us visit 
the town ! 

On the way to Aliwal North, as we sat at a small hotel eating 
our tinned red herring, there rode up the very grocer who had 
sold us that provision before we left Burghersdorp the same 
morning. But now he had doffed his apron, and was attired 
in burgher uniform, off to join the forces besieging Morosi's 
mountain in Basuto Land Aliwal North stands on the Orange 
River, which here separates the Cape Colony from the Free 
State. The hotel was full of burghers, on their way to and 
from the war in neighbouring Basuto Land. In the gaol we 
saw huddled together some seventy or eighty wretched 
prisoners from Morosi's Mountain — a motley crew, ranging 
from the ugly, dwarfish Hottentot, to the tall Basuto. My 
father was passing this " tronk " one night when he was 



268 Singing Round tJie World. 

suddenly challenged by a man with a loaded gun. " What do 
you want? — Fve orders to shoot any prisoner found here." 
Another warder called out that that was not a Kafir rebel, but 
Mr. Kennedy, the Scottish Vocalist, who was on his way to 
the hall. So my father was carefully escorted beyond the 
boundary he had unknowingly transgressed in the darkness. 
We sang two nights in Aliwal, and found the people not afraid 
of getting wet, though the rain fell in torrents. 

On the morning of departure on our long trip of one 
hundred and fort>' miles to Bloemfontein, word came to the 
Aliwal Hotel that the Orange River was rising. Saul steered 
the cart and horses into the stream, while I hung to the back 
seat, with my feet on the cushion, to avoid the inflow of water. 
After we had gone four or five yards, the leaders reared and 
plunged, and panic seized the wheelers. We had nothing for 
it but to come back, and get a man on horseback to guide our 
leaders across. On we went from one depth to another, the 
water sweeping into the cart at every lurch on the uneven 
channel ; but we got over the broad river safely. My father 
and sisters were ferried across in a most romantic manner by 
two Kafirs. The obliging fellows unceremoniously took off 
their " breeks,'* and each, clad only in his shirt, waded the boat 
along, one at the bow and the other at the stem. The fellows 
asked for this the sum of eighteenpence, saying apologetically 
that they charged extra as** the water was cold!*' 

A rainy, muddy stage brought us to Smithfield, a quiet 
little place, where we had, however, a splendid audience. The 
majority of the " second seats " were Dutchmen. Scarcely any 
of them knew English, and I posted a man at the door as 
interpreter. Some of the Boers entered into lengthy parley as 
to the price of admission — " priggin' doon," in fact. One or 
two of them hung about the door for twenty minutes, going 
away strategically, and returning again and again to the 
assault The Dutchmen appreciated the concert thoroughly, 
laughing as loudly as anyone at the humorous Scotch 
anecdotes, and joining at the end in " Auld Lang Syne." We 
sang in the Masonic Hall, and at the close the Worthy Grand 



^^ MtiSfit hurry Mishter Schmittl^* 269 

Afaster said he was authorised not to take a penny of rent 
•■ We have so heartily enjoyed your entertainment," he 
explained ; and the hall-cleaner, not to be outdone in 
generosity, gave his services free, and said he would himself 
pay the paraffin oil ! Their spontaneous kindness was valued 
by us far above the mere money interest involved, and cheered 
<^ur hearts in this our musical pilgrimage. 

The landlord of the Smithfield hotel was a German and a 

•* character." In the afternoon, at the back of the hotel, he was 

standing speaking to my father, when a number of cattle 

:Cbllowed by Kafirs and a Dutchman, rapidly entered the yard. 

He "clicked," to the Kafir, ** sprached " to the Dutchman, and 

"bied in broken English to explain to my father who they were. 

-An ox at that moment rushed past him, its horn grazing his 

^fcack, and he skipped into safety, shouting : " Cottferdam ! to 

^et on in dis country you'd have to know a towsand ling- 

'^idges !" He was the incarnation of slowness, as I found on 

"trying to pay the bill. 

" Mr. Schmitt, we will settle up now, if you please." 
" Ah ! you musn't hurry Mishter Schmitt — I am a man as 
takes my time, an' I must dink over the matter, an' Tm not 
ein poor man as wants de money bad — I'm a reetch man, an* 
so is mein brother, an' so is mein — " 
"All aboard !" cried my father outside. 
" The bill, Mr. Schmitt, the bill ! — don't you hear we're 
starting?" 

'* Well — well — welly* said he, with increasing deliberation — 
" here is de pen — an' dere's de ink — an' dere's de paper — an' 
dere is de items — an' if you are in ein big hurry you can go 
without paying, but YOU MUSN't HURRY MiSHTER Schmitt!" 
And so on, with endless talk about himself. The account 
consisted of only four lines of writing, but what with digres- 
sions and interruptions, its preparation took a quarter of an 
hour by the clock. We had been told by a colonist that we 
should "take things easily — this is an ox country, Mr. 
Kennedy ; take pattern by Job " — and certainly we found more 
things slow than " Mishter Schmitt" 



2/0 Suigmg Round the World, 

We stayed with a Dutch family the night after leaving 
Smithfield. The portly old '*Baas," in a white hat, received us 
cheerily, but in silence, as he did not know English. Follow- 
ing the Boer custom, we shook hands with the whole family — 
with the old Frau, the daughters, and the sons, down to the 
youngest. As all the Dutch have large families, and as you 
have to shake hands with the whole household when you retire 
to rest, and when you meet them in the morning, the thing 
becomes rather monotonous. These people were of the better 
class. The Dutchman had a good house, with an orchard in 
front of it, and owned a large farm, with thousands of acres of 
pastoral country. In the still twilight, we heard the far off 
bleating of hundreds of ewes and lambs, as they were being 
gathered in from the surrounding slopes into the large kraal, 
or pen, where they were sheltered for the night. It was quite 
in keeping with the tranquil scene, when we all went in-doors, 
and sang the beautiful hymn, " Abide with me ! fast falls the 
eventide," accompanied by the harmonium, which is to be 
found in most Dutch houses. We joined the family at their 
bounteous and savoury supper, and afterwards retired to the 
parlour, where my father and the Baas, who was an exception- 
ally jolly Dutchman, tried to converse. An Englishman living 
in the house knew Dutch ; and it was laughable in the extreme 
to see my father sitting at one end of a little sofa, and the 
Dutchman at the other, with the interpreter in the middle, 
passing back and forward their series of side-splitting jokes. 
How my father enjoyed it, and how the Baas laughed, his 
goodly paunch shaking, and his face turning apoplectic-purple 
with the fun ! Betimes we went to bed — my sisters getting a 
comfortable room, and my father and I having to make a shift 
with a small apartment, where we slept on jackal skins, with 
tiger skins above us. 

Next morning we resumed our journey over the broad- 
sweeping plains — the ground white with hoar-frost, and the air 
bitter cold. Herds of spring-bok were bounding in hundreds 
a few yards ahead of the cart. They are about the size of 
sheep. Their bound is wonderful ; they spurn the earth, and 



A Herd of Spring-Bok, 271 

leap to a height of six or seven feet With every jump, the 
long white hairs over the tail flap up like a fan, and the 
prettily-funny appearance of this is intensified when large 
numbers of spring-bok run together. They have been called 
** the kangaroos of South Africa," from their peculiar bound. 
It is almost perpendicular when the animal is in play ; but 
when a dog — and it must be a very fleet dog — hunts them, the 
spring-bok ceases the vertical leap, and settles down to swift 
running. These were the first wild animals we had seen in 
the country, with the exception of the meer-cats, those dainty 
little creatures that sat on the ant-heaps, with elevated front 
paws, and looked curiously at us as we passed. 

On the road, we were accompanied by a newly-married 
couple, who were driving in a light cart drawn by four good 
horses also in new harness ! They were on their way to their 
home on the Diamond Fields, and were travelling by very easy 
stages. Another of our team — the Queenstown £\o horse — 
now became ill : so ill, that Saul declared he had, in his long 
experience, never seen a horse worse. It was getting late in 
the afternoon, so the cart drove on with the three horses, while 
I followed on foot, dragging sick " Adam " some weary miles 
to our destination. 

This was a private house belonging to a decent farmer and 
lay preacher of the Wesleyan Church, who received us kindly. 
The house, and all the adjoining outhouses, had been built by 
himself of dried mud. The floors were composed of the earth 
of ant-heaps, and were washed with milk once a week, milk 
being very abundant with them. 

After tea we sang some pieces to the folks, and played the 
harmonium, an instrument of which the " gudeman " was very 
proud. In the morning, when we asked the bill, we were 
astonished to hear that our host would not accept any pay- 
ment. "You have cheered our loneliness," said he ; "and then 
didn't you sing us a song or two last night?" We laughed, 
and said we had never dreamt of those " notes " being taken 
as payment ; but he resolutely refused to accept anything. So 
we thanked him warmly for his hospitality, and tendered him 



272 Singing Round the World, 

what he could not refuse — ^a " contribution to his kirk." In his 
care we left the sick horse. Eight or nine weeks afterwards, 
as we were leaving the colony, we heard that the animal 
would not be recovered till the summer had set in, and that by 
that time he would have eaten his value in forage. 

We duly reached Bloemfontein, the chief town of the Orange 
Free State, and virtually an English capital in a Dutch 
Republic. It is a fine open town, plentifully adorned with 
trees. English is spoken about the streets, and though Dutch 
is the official language, English is the commercial. The news- 
papers are printed in English and Dutch on the same page. 
The finest building in the town is the large hall where the 
Volksraad, or People's Parliament, meet We went into it 
one day, but the deliberation was on no graver matter than 
the transfer of a "landdrost," or magistrate. The speeches 
were in Dutch, of course, but during our short visit there had 
been more than one nationality speaking it ; one member was 
a Scotsman. 

In Bloemfontein we bought another horse, which was given 
out to be very fiery. The owner ostentatiously held it while 
it was being harnessed, and the street was cleared while the 
steed was being tried. "Oh, his pace is Ai, Mr. Kennedy — 
he'll pull the machine himself ! " But the glory of " Bloem,** 
as he was called, soon faded with hard work. Bloem's first 
journey was a severe test of his powers, being from Bloemfon- 
tein to Kimberley in two days, a distance of eighty-five miles. 
The first day brought us to where we had been told of ac- 
commodation. Lo ! when wc got there, we saw an encampment 
of Doppers, who were attending the Nachtmaal. The Doppers 
are a strange sect of severe religionists, seceders from the 
Dutch Reformed Church. They are Old Testament Christians, 
and not only discountenanced the preaching of the Gospel to 
the blacks, but believed they were doing God service in rooting 
out the Kafir Canaanites from the land. The Dopper wears a 
Quakerish hat and a short jacket, with corduroy trousers 
tucked into his boots, and widening upwards towards his 
haunches — his hands being generally stuck into his breeches'- 



Dopper NachtmaaL 273 

pockets, as if to increase still further his ample rotundity. The 
Dutch hold their Nachtmaal, or Communion, every three 
months. The farmers drive in long distances with their families,, 
"trekking" for days with their slow bullock-waggons — re- 
minding one of the Jews going up to Jerusalem at feast-time. 
The Nachtmaal is a kind of " Holy Fair." They attend church, 
partake of the Sacrament, get married, are examined as to 
their religious knowledge, and buy and sell in the stores. 

The Nachtmaal we saw was held at a lonely spot contain- 
ing merely a miscellaneous store and a large barn. In front of 
these was an encampment, composed of waggons and tents 
placed alternately, and before each tent a fire was blazing. The 
proprietor of the store said all his rooms were occupied by the 
minister and the deacons. But there was a tent in the garden, 
fiimished with beds, chairs, table, and candles, with springbok 
skins on the ground. Here we had tea, and spent the night 
nnder canvas pretty comfortably. Before ** turning in," we 
went to see the barn, which was converted into a church, with 
improvised pulpit, round which were spread skins and sacks. 
Fifty persons were seated there, each on his or her " Jenny 
Geddes stool," and with countenances so grave that the 
ordinary Scottish Sunday face seemed vivacious in compari- 
son. Three couples, brides and bridegrooms, sat in front 
of the minister — the brides attired in lavender silks and 
orange blossoms. The preacher was impressive ; the psalm- 
singing slow and monotonous. When the service concluded, 
the congregation moved out, all carrying their Jenny Geddes 
stools. Over the fires, which were tended by ugly diminutive 
Bushmen, there now swung large kettles, and a smell of 
cookery filled the air. It may be that courtship was not 
forgotten in the general bustle. The store was transformed 
into a bar, and all seemed to mix their talk with gin and water. 
At five next morning we commenced to inspan. The tent- 
fires were in full blaze, and the people seemed to have been up 
for some time. This second day we travelled fifty miles to the 
Diamond Fields, and about six that evening entered far-famed 
Kimberley. 



2/4 Singing Round tJie World, 



CHAPTER XX. 

Kimberley — The Great Mine — Return Journey through the Free State — Fanre- 
smith — Perils of the Road — Cradock — Graaf Reinet. 

Kimberley, at this time scarcely in -the ninth year of its 
existence, had become one of the most important towns in 
South Africa. It stands on a desolate site — nothing but flat 
dreary " karroo," or miserable grassed desert, all round. Sir 
Bartle Frere said that the people of Kimberley were " living in 
a state of perpetual encampment," and "The Camp" it is 
familiarly called. The town is built entirely of corrugated 
iron. From the top of any of the neighbouring hills of debris, 
you see a great stretch of ugly sheet-iron roofs, extending in 
uniform leaden dulness — these house-tops presenting the 
same depressing appearance as a crowd of umbrellas on a wet 
day. 

The houses are all of one storey ; a tailor, for instance 
doing a flourishing business in a hut of half-a-dozen feet 
frontage; a diamond-merchant in an office like a little iron 
box ; a doctor seeing patients in a consulting-room six feet by 
three. Some of the slimmer-built houses are now and again 
moved from one place to another, and it is a funny sight to see 
a canvas or frame cottage going down the street, with eighteen 
or twenty Kafirs inside, carrying it, their feet popping out from 
below like the limbs of a large tortoise. There are some fine 
stores in the town, and as they are one-storied, they cover a 
goodly piece of ground. The Kimberley Market Square is a 
wide open space, and more interesting than any market square 
I ever saw. Here you feel yourself linked with the far interior ; 
there is an air of traders, and hides, and ivory, and beads about 
the locality. One store I saw had its floor occupied by scores 
of huge elephant tusks, and " karosses," or rugs made of skins^ 

We lived at the Queen's Hotel, which outwardly bore some 



A Diamond Mine. 275 

resemblance to a booth at a country fair, but within was more 
promising. The guests were mostly males. The Fields are to 
a large extent the home of single men, and though living in 
lodgings they dine at the hotels. The bar was crowded with 
business men discussing the prospects of their claims, and 
showing each other their "washings." We soon noticed the 
careless manner in which diamonds are handled in Kimberley. 
A friend, in the midst of a conversation, casually brought out 
his "last washing*' — a -Bryant and May's vesta-box running 
over with diamonds, which he carried in the outside pocket of 
his overcoat. 

We made it our first business to go and see the world- 
famous mine, only a few minutes' walk from the hotel ; for 
the town is built close to the edge of the workings. You come 
to the end of a street, and see a slight rise — all that remains 
of the old Coles-berg " koppie." A few steps further, and you 
stand on the clear-cut brink of the biggest hole that man has 
ever dug. A vast crater suddenly yawns at your feet It is 
shaped like a bowl, has sloping sides of light-coloured rock, 
stretching down to the blue diamondiferous soil at the bottom. 
Such is the expanse of the mine, that in the first hasty glance 
you may actually fail to note for a few moments that it is 
alive with human beings ; but there are more men down there 
than would people half a dozen villages. You see thousands 
of blacks working in the claims at the bottom, and dotted like 
ants on the sides. You see every nook and comer, every man 
in the mine, every one of the many interests that centre here, 
all displayed at once. The claims lie clearly spread out 
beneath you like a map — an expanse of small blocks, which do 
not look to be thirty feet square. These present great irregu- 
larities, as some of the claims are being worked faster than 
others. If a claim stands idle, the adjoining workers, digging 
down on either side, leave it standing like a square tower ; but 
there is a law which compels a man to work, if his claim is 
becoming dangerous to those around him. You see. the blacks 
busily toiling round sheer clay battlements at one place, 
shovelling on the edge of steep precipices here, climbing up 



276 Singing Round tJie World, 

naked pillars of earth there, the column being marked with 
tiny holes, the only foothold of the daring worker. Square 
pools of water gleam in several places, and walls of dark blue 
clay cross and re-cross the whole bed of the mine. Round 
the margin of this deep bowl circles a fringe of steam 
machinery, working the buckets that run up and down on 
wires, and convey the ** blue," as the diamondiferous soil is 
called, to the surface. These wires converge from all sides into 
the bottom of the mine. They are not very large, but very 
numerous. They stand out like threads of silver, when struck 
by the sun's rays ; but in some lights, or when viewed against 
the darker side of the mine, are not visible at all. The mingled 
hum of voices rising from the seething mass of labour below, 
the whirring of the many buckets flying through the air, the 
iEolian murmur of the wind playing over the web of wires, 
the far and near rumble of vehicles running round the edge of 
the mine, — make up a wondrous sensation for eye and ear. 

Once we saw the mine late in the afternoon, when the men 
were leaving work. Out from the depths the Kafirs were 
swarming, like bees from a disturbed hive. Some were crawl- 
ing up the steep slopes ; some skipping along narrow tracks, 
where, from our distant standpoint, we could see no foothold ; 
some jumping from ledge to ledge ; here and there a couple of 
them coming up in a bucket, with other Kafirs hanging on to 
the bottom of it by the runners, flying through the air on such 
a lengthy journey that you could scarcely believe a man could 
suspend himself by the arms so long. On all sides the Kafirs 
were laughing, shouting, and singing, as merry as boys released 
from school. After the men had dispersed the blasting opera- 
tions commenced. The charges are lit by one or two of the 
"boys" belonging to the difTerent claims, while the proprietors 
look down from the brink. One claim-owner standing near us 
wished he had an opera-glass, so that he could see if his Kafir 
was lighting the fuse properly. Ever>- few moments a puff of 
smoke burst from the floor of the mine, followed by a dull rum- 
bling sound, and an immense mass of rock would heave slowly 
over with a grinding crash. Frequently the hard clay would 



Diamond Stealing. .277 

fly up viciously, and the spectators ducked their heads behind 
the edge, though there seemed little fear of fragments reaching 
us at such an elevation. I overheard a claim-owner remark, 
rubbing his hands gleefully as he saw the flying pieces of rock: 
•* Aha ! that shot has landed a rich lump on my claim !" In a 
few minutes, the huge basin, so lately a scene of busy life, was 
as silent as an open grave. 

For eight years from 8000 to 10,000 men have been engaged 
in excavating the wondrous Colesberg " koppie." Little did 
anyone dream, a few years ago, that that gently swelling hill, 
then unknown and unnamed, rising in the midst of a dreary 
barren country, was soon to be heard of in all ends of the 
earth. " All kindreds, and nations, and tribes " flocked to the 
magic ground. The hill disappeared as if by enchantment, as 
one might chip an egg, or uncover a pie, previous to scooping 
it out The mine, when we saw it, was 300 feet deep, a quarter 
of a mile wide, and three-quarters of a mile in circumference. 

The two great evils that afflict Kimberley, in addition to 
dust and flies, are diamond stealing and its allied crime, illicit 
diamond buying. The ten commandments, if they are not 
kept on the Fields, are at any rate condensed into one : "Thou 
shalt not steal diamonds." The stealing, which is all done by 
the Kafirs — O yes, all by those black rogues ! — is in part sup- 
pressed by means of white overseers, who are paid from £'i to 
£$ a-week to do nothing but watch the Kafirs at their work. 
The natives, it is said, are amazingly expert at stealing 
diamonds. They can pick them up from beneath the very 
eyes of the overseer, either by their hand or between their toes. 
They swallow the stone, or secrete it in the mouth in such a 
way as to defy detection. 

The great mine of Kimberley must be credited with the 
civilising of thousands of the dusky sons of Africa. From far 
and near the natives come — Griquas, Basutos, Kafirs, Zulus — 
many of them travelling 1200 miles from the interior. They 
tramp, week after week, on their long pilgrimage, subsisting on 
what they can kill in the shape of game. Failing this, the poor 
wretches have sometimes been seen picking up and eating bits 



278 Singing Round the World, 

of hide, also stray bones, which they first grind down. The rate 
of wages paid them is los. a-weck, and their food. The native 
generally stays on the Fields a year, after which time he goes 
back to his tribe plump and fat, and bearing a load no white 
man would care to undertake. In his blanket, which he throws 
over his shoulders and ties round his waist, he carries a suit of 
moleskin clothes, a couple of guns, a pot, a tea-kettle, a grid- 
iron, a sauce-pan, three or four gaudy blankets, a pocket 
handkerchief, beads, wires, mealies for his food, knobkerries, 
and a piece of meat stuck on the end of one of his assegais. 
He also bears back to his people ineradicable ideas of the 
value of wages, of clothes, of white modes of life, — a better man 
physically and mentally than when he first saw the metal 
metropolis of the interior of South Africa. 

One day we went with a party of friends to visit one of the 
diamond-brokers, most of whose little offices stand together in 
a street leading off from the mine. Here we saw diamonds in 
galore. Package after package of the shining white gems were 
brought in, and we streamed them through our fingers like 
water, passing them round for inspection — a thing I would not 
have liked if I had been the broker ! But he seemed quite 
easy in his mind ; and in fact, if I remember rightly, once or 
twice turned his back ! Diamonds, somehow, lose all apparent 
value when you see them in the rough and in large numbers. 
We were told that "Those few diamonds there represented 
£2000^' and we were unmoved. A £\QO stone is put in your 
palm, but you feel no precious thrill. A rough diamond is not 
nearly so taking as a gold nugget 

One morning the Camp resounded with the news that a 
large diamond had been discovered — the largest ever found in 
Kimberley. The lucky owner kindly sought us out in the 
hotel, and out of a swathing of chamois leather unrolled the 
diamond before our eyes. It was a 250-carat stone — ^a perfect 
octahedron — "off-coloured," as the term is here^ — a tinge of 
lemon hue about it that might lower its value. The stone was 
said by some to be worth ;f 5000, while others declared it 



Kimberley GaoL 279 

would not fetch ;£" 1 5CX)— so uncertain is the valuation of very 
large diamonds. 

My father and I paid a visit to the Kimberley gaol. The 
buildings lack, of necessity, the massiveness and seclusiveness 
that prisons have in England — what can be done with sun- 
burnt bricks, wood, and corrugated iron? — and the gaol is 
managed in an off-hand, amateurish way that contrasts 
strangely with the sharp routine and dignity of an old- 
country prison. A lot of white-washed outhouses were scat- 
tered round two rough back-yards, while the warders, not hav- 
ing any uniform, might have been judged to be plasterers, or 
plumbers, or anything, in short, rather than gaolers. In com- 
pany with the energetic visiting-doctor we made the round of 
the cells. In the first were two native chiefs, who suffered the 
indignity of having to put out their tongues. A general in- 
spection of health then took place about the court-yard, our 
friend the doctor deftly disposing of the various cases. Here 
there was a treadmill, which turned a washing-machine. I 
stepped on the wheel and trod for a few revolutions, the Kafirs 
on the mill looking as if they thought me an egregious fool. 
Close by was a large cell, containing a tribe of bushmen — 
starving refugees from the war in Secocoeni's country, far to 
the north of Griqualand. There they were, all herded together 
— men, women, and children. Dwarfish, yellow, ugly-visaged 
people they were ; the race who, in their native state, live in 
mountain-caves, shoot with the poisoned arrow, use the flint 
and steel, and smoke their native opium ; whose forefathers 
painted those marvellous pictures on the rocks, which have ever 
been the wonder of ethnologists. This huddled crowd of ema- 
ciated beings was a sight which could not be forgotten. One 
could never dream that hunger and privation and savage life 
would lower man so near to the level of the brute ; and yet 
there was the bushwoman " skelping " her squalling child, just 
like any fond British mother. In a room near this we were in- 
troduced to two ladies, one of them the matron of the gaol. 
My father invited her to come and hear our concert ; he could 
not do less than proffer a ticket to the decent old lady who sat 



2So Singing Round t/ie World. 

knitting beside her. " She's a prisoner," whispered the matron. 
"Ah, Mr. Kennedy," said the decent old lady-convict, "here 
they put people in the gaol for things they would never dream 
of at home." We were not long in discovering that she was 
Mrs. ^ a notorious buyer of stolen diamonds ! 

Kimberley, inclusive of the adjoining Bultfontein and Do 
Toit's Pan diggings, which go to make up what is called " the 
Fields," has a population of 18,000. Of these, 10,000 are 
blacks ; the Europeans number only 8ooa We found here an 
intelligent and cultured class of people ; and they have no 
mean idea of themselves either. Kimberley has suffered in its 
time from ignorant depreciation, and it is but natural this 
should engender a little self assertiveness. The people know 
that the Fields electrified a half-dead continent into prosperity. 
Cape Town has been slow to acknowledge this. There is little 
affinity, and less love, between the two towns. Kimberley, for 
instance, chafes at Cape Town reaping the duty on the large 
amount of, goods imported for the Fields. As one man 
growled to me : " The folks there, poor beggars, could not 
afford to eat the foods we import ; and who drinks Champagne 
and Amontillado in Cape Town, I should like to know, eh ?** 

Kimberley is largely a town of single men, who, when not 
sifting out diamonds, frequent the hotel bar, the billiard saloon, 
or the skating rink. If ever fast living could be condoned, it 
would be in the persons of those men of Kimberley. Life is 
not too full of enjoyment on the Fields. What is there for these 
men, apart from their diamonds ? They work amongst them, 
and talk of them, and think of them, all day long. The rush 
of week-day work, by its impetus, sometimes carries business 
over into Sunday. Men even talk of diamonds at the church 
door. One Sunday, a young fellow, with tired look, came 
yawning up to the hotel about tiffin time, and I said to him : 
** You have been hearing a dull sermon, surely !" " Sermon !" 
he echoed ; " no fear ; IVe been diamond-sifting !" 

There are people here from all parts of the world. One day, 
within five minutes, I had spoken to a Dane, a Russian, an 
Orcadian, and a man from Canada. It is a pity the people 



Prices in Kimberley, 281 

have not built themselves a more abiding city. The truth is, 
though every Kimberley man will indignantly deny it, that 
they have no absolute certainty in the continuance of the 
diamonds. They have had faith enough to remove a 
mountain ; but it has not been strong enough to lay one stone 
■on top of another. Diamonds alone created Kimberley ; but 
for them, a civilised town would never have been shot into un- 
civilised space for the next generation, at least It looks like 
a logical sequence that, with the decay of diamond, must come 
the end of Kimberley ; but there will be a town here as long 
as South Africa exists. The interior is fast settling up, and 
trade with Kimberley must continue. 

A community of such energy and enterprise, with such tastes, 
and the memory of comforts left in other lands, never before 
inhabited such a sterile waste. But not the least of the marvels 
of Kimberley, is the manner in which some of the people have 
rendered the interior of their houses comfortable and charming ; 
in some cases ornamenting them with choice works of art, 
pictures, vases, recherche furniture, and invariably an elegant 
piano, on which you hear perhaps a sonata of Beethoven, or 
airs from the latest comic opera. Nor are the pleasures of the 
table forgotten. We dined one evening at a Scottish gentle- 
man's house, who entertained us with a repast that would have 
graced any club in Pall Mall, and which was served by his 
coloured "boys" in a quiet yet expeditious style that would 
have pleased the most fastidious gourmand. 

High prices prevailed at one time in Kimberley, and to some 
•extent prevail still. But we paid only a very little more for 
hotel living here than in the other South African towns. In 
times of drought, brown sugar has been 2s. 6d. a pound, and 
-other things in proportion. Milk and potatoes are always d.ear. 
Eggs were selling at from 5s. tq 6s. a dozen when we were in 
Kimberley. Firewood is particularly expensive ; but then as 
It is never cold, no fires are required save for cooking. Meat is 
not dear, but bread undoubtedly is, for here the element of 
skilled labour comes in, and you have to pay a shilling a pound 
for your loaf. The Kimberley washerwoman has her preten- 



282 Singing Round tJie World. 

sions also. A resident may get his linen washed at 8s. a 
dozen, but a visitor has to pay los. Perhaps this is owing to 
the high price of water. You pay 4s.. for a large barrel, 2& 6d. 
for a small cask. Last year there had been severe drought, and 
the small cask had risen to los. The supply is solely from 
wells and rain-water. The price of goods in Kimberley depends 
on "transport" Everything is brought up from Port Elizabeth^ 
or from Cape Town, most of the way by bullock waggon — ^in 
the one case 500, in the other 700 miles. Imagine Great Britain 
to be sparsely populated, the country destitute of railway, little 
or no grass on its plains and hills, and not overmuch water in 
its rivers. Then imagine goods landed at Brighton, and having 
to be wearily dragged by oxen up to Aberdeen, and you will 
have some idea of how the wants of Kimberley are supplied ; 
for Kimberley has to get nearly all its supplies from without^ 
Much of the food, and all of the drink, furniture, and clothing; 
all the many items that go to make up house plenishing — 
yea, the very town itself, in the shape of planks and sheets of 
iron — have been hauled by bullocks over many a thirsty 
plain and toilsome berg to this far, lone-lying spot The pro- 
bability of high or low rate of transport, even the very exist- 
ence of transport, depends entirely on rain or no rain. If 
there is no rain there is no grass, and if there is no grass the 
oxen die, and become the prey of jackal and vulture. At this 
time the rate of transport from Port Elizabeth to the Fields 
was 26s. the hundredweight When there have been some 
weeks of drought, prices of provisions rise. The general store 
is the Kimberley barometer. 

The Scottish element is strong here, and St Andrew's Day 
held with iclat. The dinner is a great feature. The tickets for 
the last celebration were three guineas each, which included 
champagne and twenty different kinds of wine. Appetite was 
awakened by a furious blast of the bagpipes. ** Kail soup ^ 
figured on the bill of fare along with "venison cutlets and 
guava sauce." A "Scotch haggis" sturdily held its own against 
"stewed kidneys with champagne." "Ice asparagus" and 
" Marachino jelly " brought up the rear of forty choice items. 



Through the Free State. 283 

We missed amongst the vegetables that great luxury in Kim- 
berley — cabbage. There was a cabbage one day on the table 
of a Scotch friend with whom we were very intimate, but we 
heedlessly partook of the dainty, and it was not till we had left 
that we suddenly remembered cabbages were 7s. 6d. in Kim- 
berley. We soon found ourselves in a circle of Scotch friends, 
who strained every nerve to make our visit one of great plea- 
sure. 

We sang in the Theatre Royal, a commodious building. In 
Kimberley the songs of Scotland did not fall on unappreciative 
ears. " Why," said one man, " since the Kennedys have been 
here, folks have stopped drinking Cape brandy, and Irish, and 
French, and stick to nothing else but Scotch whisky ; and (be- 
coming serious) there's more people attending the Scots Kirk, 
too." Another, addressing a clergyman of the Dutch Reformed 
Church, a dignified bachelor, said, " My good sir, you should go 
and hear Kennedy's * Nicht wi' Burns,' — you'd go and get mar- 
ried at once ! " " Oh," replied the clergyman, in a superior 
manner, ** I could get married any time I choose, without the 
aid of Burns ! " We sang ten nights — not long enough to ex- 
haust the enthusiasm of our audiences. Hitherto I have main- 
tained a little reticence as to our professional business through- 
out South Africa. I cannot refrain from mentioning here that 
it was always good — in some places excellent — but that, taking 
the number of the population into account, we had greater suc- 
cess in Kimberley than in any other town in any part of the 
globe. When we bade adieu to the Diamond Fields, a large 
cavalcade of our Scotch friends escorted us from the town. At 
length, with a "Good-bye and God speed," the last lingering 
friend waved us a farewell, eighteen miles from the town. 

The first day we travelled thirty-six miles from Kimberley, 
most of the way through the Free State. We stayed for the 
night at the house of a Dopper — a very religious man, who 
held family worship, and said a long grace before and after 
meals. In the evening the whole household sat round the 
spacious apartment, while we sang them one or two glees, to 
which they listened with not much apparent .pleasure; but 



284 Smgijig Roufid tlu World, 

when we rendered the " Old C," their faces brightened at once. 
Formerly the Boers were exceedingly ignorant ; but now they 
have wakened a little to the benefits of education, and the 
more well-to-do Dutch farmers have occasionally a school- 
master living in the house. There was one here — an English- 
man, colonial-born, who had resided a long time amongst the 
Dutch. He lamented to my father privately that he felt it 
hard " having to live amongst people of no education." What 
was his surprise to find, in the course of conversation, that this 
schoolmaster had never heard of Brigham Young, or the Mor- 
mons, — well, that might be pardoned in a man living in the 
solitudes of South Africa — but he also knew nothing of Robert 
Burns ! He was, let us hope, a most exceptional case. The 
children were taught Dutch only, which is rather unusual, as 
English is now largely taught among the Boers. This farmer 
was a stern Dopper, who hated the English and their tongue^ 
and whose only literature was the Bible. The Boers are not a 
reading people. We were told that in fifty houses you would 
not find fifty books. My father and I slept in the little scbol- 
room, with sheep-skins for a bed. The charge for accom- 
modation was high, but the food was good. 

The second day's travel was thirty-six miles. This was the 
roughest road we experienced in South Africa, — a sharp jolt 
throwing my sister Marjory ofiT the back of the cart into the 
road ; happily, she was unhurt We reached Fauresmith, a 
quiet Dutch town. Our concert took place in the Court Room, 
where we had a capital audience — the people, as is their wont 
in this town, bringing their own chairs. It was amusing to see 
a gentleman in full evening dress coming down the street with 
a chair on each arm, followed by a party of ladies, and the end 
of the procession brought up by two or three Kafirs, each 
carrying three or four chairs on his head. In the hall were soon 
collected plain chairs from dining-rooms, red-cushioned chairs 
from drawing-rooms, here a settee, there a sofa, here a 
ponderous old arm-chair, a stuffy family heir-loom — all spread 
anywhere about the floor, at the good pleasure of the owners* 
The joke waS| that friends seeing each other, brought their 



A Boer Farm. 285 

chairs t(^ther in little clumps, till I believe there was not a 
straight row in the room. The hotel here was rather comfort- 
able, but the bedrooms were facing the back-yard, where the 
domestic animal freely ranged. Just as I retired to rest, a 
knock and a voice came : — " For goodness sake, be sure an' 
keep yer door shut, or the pigs '11 be in ! " 




On our journey of thirty-four miles to Phillippolis, we break- 
fasted at a farm kept by an intelligent Dutch woman. The 
house was neat, but primitive ; the chairs were " cane- 
bottomed " with strips of raw hide. We amused the children 
by a song or two, and the big strapping son, coming in from 
the stable, rewarded us with a tune on the concertina. We 
saw few houses all this day, and scarce a vehicle. The towns 
hereabouts are connected by a slim thread of travel ; the hem 
of civilisation is sewn with wide stitches. The weather was 
ecstatic, and we saw, more than once, indications of mirage, for 
which South Africa is remarkable. Phillippolis was a most 



286 Singiyig Roujid tJie World. 

primitive town — a tranquil place, with one narrow street, and a 
disproportionately large Dutch Reformed Church at one end 
of it The minister of this is a Scotsman, and much beloved 
by his people, who, it is said, make him presents of milch-cows, 
bullocks, and sheep. Folks have been known to pay more 
than the value of farms in the neighbourhood, for the sake of 
being under his ministrations. The clergy in these parts have 
great power over their people. 

We sang in the Court Room, next to which was the post- 
office, the sacred precincts of the latter being granted us as 
side-room. In Phillippolis I met an old South African veteran, 
who was engaged in the heroic task of cleaning glasses in the 
hotel-bar. He was a perfect Bodadil — full of strange colonial 
oaths — a mass of cuts and scars sewn together with brag. 
"Allamuckta! don't imagine there's any good in the nigfger. 
Jeroosalem ! Fve seen enough of them — they're a lot of 
sweetly-smelling cherubs, tJuy are 1 Oh yes, tell tne all about 
them. Blow-me-tight ! why, I've fought in every Kafir war 
that ever was ! I'm wounds all over — there's not an inch of 
me that aint got knocked about An assegai stuck me in the 
eye ; there's a gash, look, in my cheek ; there's a knobkerrie 
dent on my skull ; there's a bullet up my back ; a lump hacked 
off my calf. Great Caesar's ghost ! / know what fightin' the 
nigger is !" 

During our next stage, we recrossed the Orange River, and 
were once more in Cape Colony, so far on our southward 
journey back to Port Elizabeth. Colesberg has an exceedingly 
quaint and picturesque situation, lying in a nest of " spitzkops," 
or rocky hills. The people of Colesberg have been nicknamed 
** rock-scorpions." During our travelling in these districts, we 
frequently saw flocks of domesticated ostriches — now in a 
hedged paddock, now in a stone kraal, or walking unconfined 
about a village. In many places the farmers have given up 
sheep, and taken exclusively to ostriches, which they will 
repent some day, when the feathers lose their fancy price. 
The value of feathers averages from ;£^5 to ;£"20 each plucking. 

What an eventful three days' drive we had to Cradock! The 



An Eventful Journey. 287 

first day we had thirty-six miles of rain and mud. In a part of 
the veldt more than unusually lonely, the cart got into the deep 
ruts of a dray, and as these were too wide apart for our vehicle, 
the axle was bent in a moment, the upper half of the wheels 
being jammed against the side of the cart It was a desperate 
fix, and this, too, amid pouring rain, vivid lightning, and 
deafening thunder. With the butt-end of the whip, with an 
old chiisel, with a bit of stick, and with our very fingers, we 
dug out the stiff clay from between the spokes of the wheels. 
Then, with shout and shove and lash, we got the horses to drag 
out the dislocated cart Saul, poor man ! was very down- 
hearted at the unfortunate affair. Luckily, by dusk, we reached 
a small road-side inn, called Macassarfontein, thankful to get 
even its poor accommodation. As it is not the custom in this 
country to have fires, except for cooking, we could not get our 
dripping-wet clothes dried, and it was not the most pleasant thing 
in the world to put on our cold damp cflothes next morning. 

This second day we again drove thirty-six miles. At one 
deep spruit my father was shot clean off the front seat into the 
. air. As he fell, he had the presence of mind and time to roll 
over, thus escaping the wheel by a hair-breadth. He landed 
flat on his back in the stream. The horses dashed up the 
steep side of the spruit, and looking back, we saw him stagger- 
ing up in a deplorable state of mud, but providentially 
unscathed. I at once cancelled the " Postponement of Concert " 
placard that had flashed through my mind. This accident 
delayed us but a few moments. Our motto was " Onward " — 
in these long journeys every minute being valuable. We 
spared no effort, but pushed on resolutely, and faithfully kept 
all our appointments in a tour of unusual length, and most 
exacting to man and beast We arrived in Cradock at four in 
the afternoon. That night we were all in such good " form " 
that the audience never would have dreamt of the three days' 
toil we had had to reach them. Here we had the axle of the 
cart straightened, and broken springs replaced. 

From Cradock we had a two days' drive of seventy miles to 
Somerset East, a pretty little village, lying at the foot of a 



288 Singing Round the World, 

mighty berg, whose mammoth spurs stretch down like elephan- 
tine toes into the plain. In this township we met with the 
warmest reception from the inhabitants, many of whom we 
found to be fellow-countrymen ; Somerset East has been called 
** Little Scotland." Seventy-five miles, performed in two days, 
brought us to Graaff Reinet, one of the oldest towns in Cape 
Colony. Fine mountains closely encompass it on three sides. 
The Town Hall is the place where entertainments arc 
generally held. We paid rent for it, but got merely the shell 
of the building. We had to seat it, light it, and clean it 
Chairs had to be borrowed all over the town — forty from this 
place, fifty from that ; a dozen from one kind lady, four or five 
from another private house, some from the hotel — the streets 
being busy best part of a day with Kafir " boys " carrying the 
seats. Then the lighting had to be attended to. There were 
only two oil-lamps, which belonged to the Choral Society. 
The walls were covered with rough wooden sconces, to fill 
which for three nights required £ i 3s. worth of candles. Foot- 
lights were improvised by placing candles in groups of half-a- 
dozen in tin shades. One night there was considerable excite- 
ment, when, under the influence of a strong draught, the "dips'* 
melted away, the liquid tallow in the trays latterly flaring up 
in an alarming manner. The most dangerous of the lights was 
removed by a gentleman in luxuriant flaxen moustache and 
side whiskers. Next day I was accosted in the hotel by a 
stranger, a clean-shaven man, who said : " I suppose you were 
pretty glad I came to your help last night" " You ! really, I 
don't remember — " " Not likely," said he, lugubriously ; ** I'm 
the man that tried to blow out the foot-light ! " The railway 
from Port Elizabeth to Graaff" Reinet, a distance of 200 miles^ 
is almost completed. At this time we had to drive twenty 
miles to a small station, where we shipped horses and cart 
down to Port Elizabeth. We committed them to the care of 
the friend under whose experienced guidance we had purchased 
them. He was of invaluable service to us during our stay in 
South' Africa, and concluded a series of kind offices by^getting 
our cart and team put up to auction during our visit to Natal 



Durban. 289 



CHAPTER XXI. 

Natal — Durban — Pietermaritzburg — The Zulus — Bishop Colenso — Relics of 
Isandhlwana — The Native Contingent — A kindly Souvenir — Farewell to 
South Airica. 

Port Elizabeth to Durban is about 400 miles. We left on 
Friday at noon, and at two o'clock on Sunday afternoon, we 
lay off the Port. The bar, distant about three-quarters of a 
mile, was marked by heavy rollers. Our steamer was not very 
large ; but, owing to the tide being low, it could not cross. So 
a small tender came alongside, lurching violently in the swells 
and the unfortunate passengers had to watch carefully their 
chance of jumping from the one vessel to the other. The 
ladies were packed, two' at a time, in a deep basket, and let 
down by a crane. Then, to add insult to injury, the bilge- 
water began to spout from the steamer's side, and completely 
deluged the little tug before it had time to move off. The 
whole arrangement was slovenly in the extreme. The tug 
crossed the foaming bar without taking on much water, and in 
a few minutes we had rounded the Point The wharf was 
picturesquely crowded with townspeople, red-coats, and Zulus. 
We hired five black " boys " to carry our smaller luggage up to 
the town, about a mile and a-half distant There is a railway 
from the Point to Durban, also omnibuses and drays ; but^ 
being Sunday, communication was stopped. 

We walked up to town along a sandy road lined with 
tropical shrubbery. It felt very much warmer here than in 
Cape Colony, and we were glad when the sandy road led into 
the long main street of Durban. At the first hotel, we could 
get audience only with the brother of the proprietor, who 
thought there were no vacant rooms, owing to the return of so 
many of the military from Zululand. The proprietor himself 
was indulging in his after-dinner nap, from which we were told 



2go Siftgiftg Round ike World, 

he dare not be roused. After indulging in his forty winks, 
which occupied forty minutes, he kindly awoke, and told us 
" he was full." So we " trekked " off to other quarters, followed 
by our Zulu contingent carrying the luggage. We arrived at 
anothei: hotel in time to get the only remaining rooms. 

Durban is built on a sand-flat, which stretches from the hay 
to the Berea, a wooded hill rising three miles back from the 
coast On the Berea are situated the villas of the wealthier in- 
habitants, while the town itself is mainly occupied by the 
numerous places of business. Durban has long wide streets^ 
down which the houses and stores are comfortably ranged. 
They do not cramp each other in close, high, rigid masses as 
at home. In the middle of the town is a railed garden, rich in 
shrubbery and shade-trees. Close to it stands the el^^ant 
Post Office, which lost a good deal of its neatness by having a 
pile of sand-bags on the top of it We saw, at a commanding 
corner, a store whose roof was also fitted up with one of these 
impromptu batteries. These told tales of the great scare in 
January and February of this year, when the folks were almost 
on the point of fleeing the colony, and when the shipping in 
the bay held itself in readiness to take on board the panic- 
stricken population. 

Ordinarily a decent sort of place, Durban had been trans- 
formed by the Zulu war into a noisy, rowdy town. The 
canteens were doing a roaring trade ; brawls took place at the 
street corners. The hotel echoed all day with the animal 
spirits of young officers. We met with all kinds of people just 
returned from "the Front" The "Front" monopolised all 
conversation. The streets of Durban are picturesque with 
Zulus and Indian Coolies. You marvel at seeing the alien 
labourers ; but the Zulu is fitful and fit only for rough un- 
skilled work. Hence he is useless on the sugar and coffee 
plantations, and hence has come about that extensive 
introduction of coolies, who can be relied upon for a number 
of years. 

We gave eight concerts in Durban, in the Trafalgar Hall, 
which, like a good many colonial halls, is a concert-room, with 



TJie Capital of Natal, 2gi 

a theatrical stage at one end, and holding 400 or 500 people. 
We had good audiences, but the " gods " were the noisiest we 
had met with in any part of South Africa. This was chiefly 
owing to the war element — to the shady populace that follows 
in the train of an army. I am afraid that these rough 
customers kept some of the respectable " Berea people " away 
at first; for it was only after a night or two, when the celestials 
had quieted down, that the townspeople came out with their 
"Wives and daughters. 

Maritzburg, the capital of Natal, is fifty-two miles inland 
from Durban — ^by railway it will be as much as seventy. The 
train at this time ran only half way, the engineering difficulties 
being unusually great Leaving Durban, you pass through 
rich plantations and luxuriant bush. Shortly the line com- 
mences to ascend, and the curves I should think, are 
unparalleled in number and sharpness. When we got out at 
Botha's Hill, there was "Murray's Bus" waiting for passengers. 
This was a " Cobb's Coach," capable of holding about a dozen 
people, and their Lilliputian luggage, which is limited to 12 
lbs. each person. Among our fellow-passengers was Mr. 
Russel, the Superintendent of Education, whom we found to 
be an Edinburgh man, and in conversation with whom the four 
hours passed pleasantly. The driver was a very intelligent fel- 
low, who had once been a " gentleman," but had fallen some- 
how from the drawing-room to the splashboard. The vehicle 
had broken down the preceding day, and its underworks were 
now held together with ropes, while through a rent in the bot- 
tom the dust was wafted up as from a small volcano. The 
most notable part of the drive was the long Inchanga Hill, up 
which ^the passengers had to walk. Then on we sped, over 
grassy downs and over breezy ridges. They had need be 
breezy, in all conscience, as the air at most places reeked with 
carrion. Once we saw a party of Zulus cutting up a dead ox, 
while the large vultures were hovering hungrily a few paces off, 
till the natives had done with the carcase ; and this, too, along- 
side one of the most travelled roads in South Africa Crossing 
a'neat iron bridge over the Umsindusi River, we passed the 



292 Singing Round t/ie World, 

Maritzburg Cemetery, which inauspiciously lines each side of 
the road, and in a few minutes finished our journey at the 
Crown Hotel. 

Pietermaritzburg is situated in the heart of " fair Natal," on 
a gently-sloping plain, partly surrounded by hills. In the 
heart of the town, the streets are composed of large stores ; as 
they stretch outwards, they gradually lose their municipal air, 
and become roads lined with trees, with a " sluit " running on 
either side, and cottages peeping coquettishly through a veil of 
foliage. Some of the suburban houses have their gables 
covered with vines, and their verandahs with luxuriant 
creepers. Everywhere there are gardens, while many of the 
hedge-rows are composed of roses. The town still bears some 
evidence of the Arcadian tastes of its founders, — those early 
immigrant Boers, who, in 1838, thought to make here a village 
Paradise. The Zulus are a continual source of interest in these 
towns of Natal. They are powerful, well-built fellows, and 
inveterately cheerful. It may be said that the Kafir supplies 
South Africa with laughter. If you hear merriment anywhere, 
ten to one it proceeds from the native, not from Boer or 
Africander. There is more sparkle in a Zulu's left eye than in 
a Dutchman's two eyes put together. Never was there a more 
appropriate word than that of " boys " as applied to the Kafirs. 
They are self-satisfied, jolly, happy-go-lucky in their work. 
Their clothing is never ample, but what they do wear is worn 
with grace. Their well-shapen bodies set off the most ragged 
coats or trousers ; tatters on a Kafir never suggest dirt, 
squalor, or destitution, as on a home beggar. The men trim 
their hair into strange shapes, and any day in Maritzburg you 
may see them sitting on the curb-stones doing up each other's 
'* wool." I have seen a " boy " with a piece of pink tape bound 
round his forehead, who looked as attractive as an Acis, and 
another equally handsome in a coronet of green leaves. Every 
native carries a stick, sometimes two or three, for you might as 
well expect them to be wanting an arm or a leg as be vrithout 
their " knob-kerrie." 

There are scarcely any Kafir women in service ; the Kafir 



The Zulus. 293 

woman is of g^eat value, that is, as a marketable article. The 
father can sell her to a suitor for ten or fourteen head of cattle. 
You can imagine an old Kafir parent saying to the expectant 
bridegroom, with a twinkle of the eye, "Oh! yes; you can 
have your bonnie lassie — wJun tJie kye comes hame /" When 
the girl becomes a wife, she hoes the ground, sows and reaps, 
hews wood and draws water ; while the happy husband loafs 
all day, merely doing such light work as milking the cows. 
The more wives he marries, the more ground he c|in cultivate, 
and the richer he becomes. There are no old maids in Zulu- 
land ; and as long as polygamy exists, it will be impossible for 
Europeans to get a reliable supply of Kafir women for servants. 
The colonists, however, do not feel this so very irksome. A 
Scotch housewife in Maritzburg told me she preferred a " boy" 
to a Kafir girl, as he was so very much cleaner and handier. It 
takes a little time for one to get over the peculiar sensation of 
seeing a black man doing the cooking, cleaning the bedrooms, 
and making the beds. The relations between black and white 
in Natal seem to be more satisfactory than in the Cape Colony. 
The "boys" are more intelligent, vivacious, and industrious, and 
the colonists speak of them more kindly. At nine o'clock each 
night, a bell rings as a signal for the natives to leave the streets 
and retire to their homes. This seems at first rather a harsh 
restriction ; but as the Zulus generally go to bed about eight 
o'clock, the regulation only affects a few confirmed loafers, and 
was made to prevent robbery and lawlessness. I have seen 
more than one European on Maritzburg streets at night, whom 
it would have been advisable to put under this regulation ; but 
then, I suppose, we would hear a great outcry about "the liberty 
of the subject" One can pardon the European law-maker for 
being a little stringent, when one recollects the total whites of 
Natal number only 20,000, amongst 350,000 blacks. 

We paid a visit to the suburban villa of a Maritzburg gentle- 
man, famed for his plantations. The artist of the Graphic 
chanced to be of the party, and I had the honour of bestriding 
his steed which had been in most of the battles of the Zulu 
War. Under guidance of our host, we saw his garden and 



294 Singi?ig Round t/ie World, 

forests — acres upon acres covered with timber. He sets from 
10,000 to 12,000 trees a-year ; one twelvemonth he planted 
26,000. Our friend showed us a little Druid circle of oaks, 
which he did not seem to value so much because they were 
oaks, or had grown swiftly, but because they were English. 
Maritzburg used to be regarded as " a Sodom and Gomorrah," 
so hot and dry was it, and its hills so treeless ; but now the 
land-owners have taken to growing timber, which will prove 
at once pleasant and beneficial. 

I may here interject the remark that dairy produce not being 
plentiful in Maritzburg, we had to put up with preserved butter 
at the hotel. One day, my father, on the butter being handed 
him, said : "Are you sure, now, this is fresh butter ? ** " Oh 
yes," answered the waiter cheerfully, "just out of the tin this 
morning ! " 

One Sunday we went to hear the late Dr. Colenso, who was 
appointed Bishop of Natal in 1853. He was known in England 
as an eminent mathematician, and came out to South Africa 
as a missionary bishop, where he became equally famed as the 
social and political champion of the Zulu. Colenso preached 
in a neat little cathedral, with a good congregation. This 
Sunday, by a strange coincidence, we heard him discourse on 
the Book of Exodus, — his text having reference to the wan- 
derings of the children of Israel, which he held to be a 
spiritual allegory. He said that St. Paul also held the same 
view of the matter ; and that if the worthy Apostle had lived 
in these later days, he would have been brought before the 
Church Court, and subjected to damnatory utterances. Dn 
Colenso lived at Bishopstowe, a charming residence some miles 
out from Maritzburg, where he had natives employed in print- 
ing the Bible, Prayer Book, and other works in the Zulu 
language. 

While we were in Maritzburg the Carbineers arrived from 
the front Half of the corps had been at Isandhlwana, and 
perished at the base of the lofty dark rock. We had presented 
to us a ragged book of MS. music from Isandhlwana, its pages 
covered with blood and dirt, and many of them torn and 



The Native Warriors, 295 

trampled beyond deciphering — a ghastly memorial of the 
struggle. 

One day I saw the return of one of the tribes of the Native 
Contingent The thoroughfare was filled with a wild proces- 
sion of Zulus, dressed in all the panoply of barbarous war. 
Kvery man had his large shield of hide, a bundle of assegais 
under his arm, a gun strapped on his back, another carried over 
the shoulder, a canvas bag slung at the back of the neck, and 
a portable commissariat of water-calabashes and mealie-bags at 
his back. The warriors were all ragged and weather-beaten. 
Trousers they had none, but round their waists they wore strips 
of hairy hide, or " moochees " of wild cat's tails, that flapped to 
the time of their agile steps. Some of the " braves " were al- 
most entirely nude, and their gleaming black bodies adorned 
with strings of beads. Looking down the street you saw a long 
array of ^nodding plumes, battered slouch hats, gleaming bay- 
onets, assegais, and knobkerries, appearing above the red dust 
stirred by the host of bare feet ; while the whole line of the pro- 
cession was covered with a wall of piebald buffalo-shields. 
Bonnie Prince Charlie's Highland army could never have 
matched this for savage picturesqueness. As it moved along 
it sang a hoarse chant of victory. The van shouted one part 
of the tune, the middle were at another, and the rear howled at 
its own free will. One time the voices would sink into deep 
grunts, that, given by so many hundred throats, sounded like 
loud thuds. Then the men would give a fierce sharp cry — half 
shriek, half whistle — that seemed to tear the very air. Never 
for a moment did the monotonous " thud, thud, thud," of the 
deep bass voices cease, now here, now there in the lengthy 
array. In front of the motley army danced a Zulu woman, 
screaming at the pitch of her voice, and waving a long stick. 
The warrior host had not the slightest affinity with the decent 
respectable street. The prosaic shop-signs of "Mr. Brown, 
Draper," and " Mr. Robinson, Bookseller," seen across the mass 
of wild-faced, semi-nude savages, and through the bristling 
assegais, had a most peculiar effect 

We gave nine concerts in Maritzburg, — more in proportion 



296 Singing Round t/ie World, 

to the population than in any other South African town. The 
last night was a " bumper." On that occasion the Mayor and 
Town Council attended in a body. A number of enthusiastic 
Scotsmen publicly presented my father with an address and a 
splendid diamond ring — their spokesman being the Speaker rf 
the Natal Parliament The ring was, as he expressed it; 
" composed of diamonds from Kimberley, and gold from the 
slopes of the Drakensberg," — an appropriate souvenir of a 
kindly colony. 

We embarked at Durban on the 19th August to catch the 
steamer that left Cape Town for England on the 26th. Next 
day we lay off East London, where we picked up some passen- 
gers — among them a lady and her daughters, who were brought 
over the rollers in a lifeboat The passage of the bar had been 
most hazardous. The boat struck several times on the sand, 
while the waves repeatedly washed over them. At length, with 
great difficulty, they were brought on board, the lady's eldest 
daughter fainting with the excitement We called next at 
Port Elizabeth, then at Mossel Bay. At the latter port we 
took on an elderly gentleman, who had travelled from a small 
village inland, and had never seen the sea before. His inno- 
cence was highly entertaining. Shortly after getting out to sea, 
he came to me with white, anxious face, saying, •* Fm not all 
right here" (pointing to his head); "is this sea-sickness? I've 
often heard of it" And upon my assuring him that it un- 
doubtedly was, the poor man took to his berth for the rest of 
the day. We reached Cape Town on Sunday morning, and on 
Monday night gave our farewell concert there to a splendid 
audience. 

Thus ended our tour through South Africa. We had travelled 
1360 miles of colonial roads, and 1800 miles of colonial waters 
— 3160 miles in all. Wc had given 82 concerts, singing in 24 
towns. Leaving out the sea-journies, we had an average of 
about 57 miles of road-travelling t5 each town. Including the 
voyages to the Cape and back, we had in our short tour of six 
months travelled 17,160 miles. 

A party of Scotch friends assembled on the wharf at Cape 



Adieu to South Africa. 



297 



Town to see us off. Souvenirs of all kinds — a Zulu shield, 
gemsbok horns, a painted ostrich egg, and lovely ostrich 
feathers — ^were given us at parting. As the steamer moved 
^way, our friends waved a warm farewell, and we returned 
^eir signals till we could see them no longer. 



#• 



2gS Singittg Round tlie World. 



INDIA. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

Calcutta — The European Quarter — Native Servants — A Hindoo Festival — Street 
Scenes — Churches — Society — The Twilight Drive — Collies — ^Native Music — 
Visit to a Zenana — A Sail on the Hooghly — Our Concerts. 

On the afternoon of the 2nd October, 1879, I saw my father, 
mother, and my sisters Helen and Lizzie, sail from South- 
ampton in the P. & O. steamer " Khedive/' bound for Calcutta 
direct Then, that night I travelled via Dieppe to Pari% 
where I took a through ticket fpr Brindisi. All next night 
and half of the following day, I journeyed through the south 
of France. The train accomplished Mont Cenis tunnel in 
twenty-five minutes, and all that afternoon, night, and the 
entire following day (Sunday), traversed the long "Boot" of 
the Italian Peninsula. At 11.30 P.M. I flung myself into my 
berth on board the " Surat " at Brindisi, having travelled almost 
continually since leaving Edinburgh on Wednesday night 
Three days* sail on the warm blue Mediterranean brought us 
to Alexandria, — to the "glorious East," with its dust, heat, and 
beggary. The harbour was interesting from its environments 
of white-washed palaces and forts. But there was little time 
to enjoy the spectacle. A tug took off the passengers to the 
train, — a string of small, dirty carriages, — and away we started 
on a night-ride across the Desert. Suez was reached at six in 
the morning. Deaf to the entreaties of the Arab donkey-boys, 
who vainly implored us to try the " Bishop of London," " Mrs. 
Langtry," and other steeds, we installed ourselves in the S.S. 
" Ncpaul," which an hour afterwards was cleaving the waters 
of the Red Sea. Amid heat which stood at 96 degrees on the 



Calcutta, 299 

companion-ladder, we sailed uninterested to Aden. Next day 

'we were skirting Araby the Blest, with a cooling wind. In 

eighteen days from London we had sighted the cocoa-nuts of 

Bombay. The mail-train left at six in the evening, on its long 

journey of over 1400 miles across the hot plains of India, and 

sixty hours afterwards a black servant was pulling off my boots 

in a boarding-house in Calcutta. Thus ended my hand-bag 

journey across two continents. By this cutting off of corners 

I had reached the " City of Palaces *' a fortnight in advance, to 

make the needful preparations for our concerts. I may here 

anticipate the narrative by saying that the ** Khedive " arrived 

punctually, and that our concerts commenced the very night 

we had fixed on, before leaving home. 

It was early in the morning when I arrived at Calcutta. 
Emerging from the large terminus I hailed a " gharry " or cab, 
and was driven across the Hooghly Bridge. The cab rattled 
on through native slums, as crowded as London streets at 
dinner hour, till at length it issued into the open European 
quarter, and landed me at a boarding-house. This was a large 
three-storied building, with heavy pillared verandahs, the space 
between which was covered half-way from the top by awnings. 
On my arrival, a number of natives salaamed, wishing to be 
engaged as servants, for everyone requires to have his own 
" boy " here. I engaged an elderly Mahommedan, Esouf by 
name, who could speak a little English. He deftly pulled off 
my coat, boots, socks, and other clothing, and escorted me 
with a flourish of towels to the bath, which convenience is 
attached to every bedroom. Ablutions over, he dressed me, 
and brought a cup of tea and a slice of toast — " chota hazaree,** 
or " little breakfast," as it is called. While I was eating, old 
Esouf was ransacking my portmanteau and bag, picking out 
dirty clothes, hanging up clean things in the wardrobe, dusting 
my slippers, brushing my boots, and " arranging *' my private 
papers. An hour later he showed me into the public room, 
where a dozen people were breakfasting under cover of a long 
punkah, pulled by a little wallah perched on a stool. After 
breakfast, Esouf, the old vagabond, came whining to me with a 



300 Singing Round tJie World. 

long story that he had got the fever, pressing my hand on hb 
brow to let me feel the heat of his head. He wanted my 
gracious permission to go to the hospital, and introduced a 
substitute in the person of his son, Gollam Hossein, who by a 
strange coincidence happened to be passing in the nick of 
time, and would act as general servant for Rs. 3 a-week (6s). 
He was a tall, sharp-looking lad, and I engaged him on the 
spot Exit Esouf ! 

Calcutta is a wide-spread city, the native quarter with its 
" bustees *' or suburbs being spawned over seven square miles. 
The population is about a million, of which only eight or nine 
thousand are whites. Most of the European portion centres 
round the Maidan and Dalhousie Square, connected with each 
other by Old Court House Street The Maidan, or Esplanade, 
is a great open space intersected by roads, the dust of which 
bears the impress of countless naked feet This large meadow 
lies between a mass of the native town and the river. One 
side of the Maidan is the fashionable Chowringhee Road, two 
miles long and eighty feet wide, along which extends at easy 
distances a line of white, flat-roofed mansions, with broad- 
pillared balconies — the abodes of rich baboos, rajahs, Parsees, 
and the cream of European Calcutta. 

Old Court House Street, the principal business thoroughfare, 
is open and clean, and its vista closed in the distance by the 
facade and spire of the Scotch kirk. The shops stand back on 
broad pavements, and have no special display in their windows, 
owing perhaps to their being few or no European foot passen- 
gers to be casually attracted. The whites are carriage-people. 
From the shop door to the curb-stone stretches a covered way 
to shelter from the sun, or if this be wanting, a native servant 
stands with a large wicker umbrella to escort the customers 
to and from their gharries. We reach Dalhousie Square, at 
one side of which stands the large Post Office, occupying the 
site of the historical Black Hole. The centre of the square is 
a delightful reserve of tropical shrubbery, in which is set a 
"tank" or pond, surrounded by sloping green turf Here, too, 
is situated the Dalhousie Institute, where we gave our concerts 



The Baboo. 301 

Being curious to see the city, I set out in the forenoon for a 
stroll, against all the warnings of the landlord, who said it was 
not the fashion for a European to walk, and not safe. The 
danger lay in the sun, which, however, did not feel very oppres- 
sive, though much hotter than an English summer sun. 

" Palki, Sahib ! Palki ! YHi-keeeeer 

No sooner have I set foot in the street than from all sides I 
hear this strange cry. It is shouted close into my ear, yelled 
at me enterprisingly from across the road, uttered expectantly 
far down the street, grunted disappointedly at me from behind. 
It proceeds from groups of four men seated every few yards 
alongside what seems a big black box impaled lengthwise by a 
pole. They are " palki-wallahs," or palankeen-bearers, this 
species of locomotion being fully as much in vogue as was the 
sedan-chair last century. The palki-wallah is a native of 
Orissa, and of better physique than the ordinary Bengali. He 
IS a muscular, well-formed fellow, clad simply in a piece of 
cotton round his loins. His voice is sonorous, his features bold, 
and down the bridge of his hawk-like nose extends a white 
caste-mark, while his glossy hair, long as a womari*s, is tied in 
a knot at the back. The palki-wallahs are specially trained 
for the work. That heavy palki, with its occupant, they trot 
along at the rate of five miles an hour, two of the men support- 
ing and two propelling. Look at these poor fellows toiling with 
that portly old sea-captain, who lies full lengfth inside, smoking 
his cheroot — the palki-wallahs' elbows jerking spasmodically, 
and their voices singing the comforting chant, " Oh the Sahib 
IS heavy, but hell give us big baksheesh !" — a hint the old salt 
will doubtless take. 

During my walk of three or four hundred yards, I did not 
meet one white face. The pavements swarmed with natives, in 
all styles of raiment, from the loin-cloth of the coolie to the 
toga of the baboo. The baboo is a g^eat feature of Calcutta. 
He is properly speaking of the clerk caste, but the term is 
applied generally to all educated natives — natives who can 
speak and write English. " Baboo" simply means " Mr." just 
as "Sahib" is the colloquial "sir." The baboo is dressed in 



302 Singing Rotind the World, 

white, as are most of the natives, and this gives a bright ap- 
pearance to the street crowds. He wears a waist-cloth of white 
cotton, with a muslin "chudder" flung over his shoulders. He 
wears patent leather shoes, and his legs are draped with muslin, 
folded diagonally so as to display his fat brown calves. He is 
bare-headed, has his black hair cropped close in the French 
fashion, and almost invariably carries an umbrella, as a sun 
shade. His form is portly, his carriage erect and dignified as 
a Tribune, and but little effort is required to imagine one's self 
in the Rome of Caesar and Marc Antony. You jostle the 
** first citizen" and "second citizen" at every turn. You see 
the baboo in his shop in the bazaar ; you see him as a pleader 
in the court ; you see him in the merchant's office ; you see 
him in the post-office ; you see him perched on a high chair at 
the bank, his knees almost up to his chin, and the scratch of 
his quill alternating with a scratch at his bare leg. 

This forenoon I called on several gentlemen in the way of 
business. The conversation never lasted more than two or 
three minutes before my vis-a-vis would turn red with anger, 
snatch up a roll of paper or anything handy, and throw it over 
my head at the punkah-wallah, who sat nodding behind. The 
price of coolness is eternal vigilance ! A story is told of a 
gentleman whose bedroom-punkah was pulled from the apart- 
ment below by a string let through the floor. In the middle 
of the night he awoke sweltering, and seeing the punkah 
motionless, seized the ewer and emptied it down the hole. The 
spasmodic renewal of the punkah showed the "water-power" 
had proved effective. But an hour afterwards the punkah had 
stopped again. Repeated douches with the water-jug had no 
result, and looking down the hole the gentleman saw the 
punkah-wallah fast asleep, holding an umbrella over his head ! 
The punkah-wallah is paid 4id. a-day and 4id. a-night for his 
most monotonous of occupations. 

I got back to the boarding-house none the better for my 
walk, and in truth had to lie down the rest of the day. Next 
morning the guests were elated, for the sky was actually over- 
cast, and one could get out for a walk ! In company with a 



Inside a Burning Ghaut 303 

doctor from Assam, I strolled through nine miles of the 
native quarter. Such crowds, bustle, and business — multi- 
tudes of one-storied dingy shops, forming " bazaars " as they 
are called — shops with no window or door, but consist- 
ing of an open front, in which the tradesman sat cross- 
legged amongst his goods. There was also the frequent 
shrine, with its red god. Once we noticed a Hindoo 
woman presenting nosegays, and praying to an idol placed 
on the narrow side- walk. Near her a large " brumleykite " 
was pecking at a dead calf's eyes, resting on the carcase till we 
were within foot's reach of it, when the vulture flapped its ugly 
wings and vanished. 

We came home by the river, seeing the " ghauts," which 
were crowded with washing worshippers. Both sexes bathed 
breast high together — the men taking the ends of their loin- 
cloth and scooping the water over their heads. Ever and anon 
they would throw their arms up to heaven, or salaam to the 
holy Hooghly. At one part of the steps a Hindoo widow was 
crying bitterly and shrieking for money to burn her husband, 
who then lay dead at the bottom of the ghaut, with his feet in 
the river. All this transpiring, too, alongside of a prosaic 
Liverpool shipping bustle ! Close by was a temple-like build- 
ing with an open roof, from which came a great cloud of 
smoke, accompanied by a peculiar odour — aBuRNiNG-GHAUX! 
The doctor and I went inside and saw several coarse log-fires, 
in one of which a body was being consumed. Four or five na- 
tives, with long poles, were poking in the protruding knees and 
elbows of the corpse. Ugh ! One brute of a Hindoo, scrap- 
ing amongst the dead ashes of a fire, brought us a charred 
thigh-bone, and asked for " Baksheesh." We turned away in 
disgust, the natives remarking in a stage-whisper, " Those poor 
Sahibs have got no money." 

When my father and mother and sisters arrived, we occupied 
the lower flat of the boarding-house. We had now two "boys," 
both Mahommedans, for the Mahommedans will do more va- 
ried work than the Hindoos. The Hindoo with his rigid caste 
is fixed in a groove. If he attends you in the bedroom, he will 



304 Singing Round tJie World, 

not clean out your bathroom — ^if he awaits on you at table, he 
will not dust your chairs, and so on. A Mussulman ^ khitmut- 
ghar " will serve at meals, go messages, brush your clotfaesi 
polish your boots, and make your bed. But even he will draw 
the line somewhere. He will not sweep out your bedrooniy or 
do any of the menial work in connection therewith. That is 
performed by a lowly shrinking ^ mehter,'' who comes in noise- 
lessly by the back door every morning, with a whisk-broom in 
each hand. Then the " khitmutghar " will not fill your earths 
enware bath, or your wash-basin, that being the task of the 
^ bheestie," who comes in regularly with a capacious water- 
bag, like a large stomach slung under his arm. 

We had breakfast at nine, dinner at three, and tea at stx» 
In India the table service is enjoyably complete ; the noiseless 
Bengali glides so expeditiously about the room. During the 
meals the servants mysteriously crouched on a piece of matting 
in the verandah, with a bowl of hot water and a cloth to clean 
the plates between the courses. I never saw so much done 
with so little means. It was almost paralleled by the miser- 
ably small kitchen, whence issued dishes no white chef could 
possibly have prepared under the same circumstances. At 
dinner we would be startled by the swoop of hungry hawks 
into the verandah, carrying off the scraps off meat Outside^ 
on the front plot, skipped and croaked scores of crows, poor 
comic wretches, one eye on the vultures, and another on the 
servants, — now perching on a verandah ledge, now making a 
daring dash into the very dining-room, which was already a 
fluttering aviary of little birds. This tameness is due greatly 
to the Hindoo's reverence for animal life. 

We lived close to a bazaar, and one had a feeling of 
swarming population. Your " boy " will bring you anything 
or anybody at a moment's notice, from a tailor to a snake- 
charmer. But you have seldom to send for any shopkeeper 
from the bazaar. He comes uninvited, and cheerfully, and 
often, and brings his goods with him. The morning opens 
with a native barber armed like a bandit, his cotton girdle 
stuck full of scissors and razors. His services declined, he 



The "Box- Wallah." 305 

glides off salaaming, as if under deepest obligation. Then the 
** dhobie " comes in — the washerman, who does your linen at 
Rs. 5 a 100. An bid spectacled tailor hobbles up, and Mem 
Sahib hires his services at eight annas (is.)*a-day to do plain 
sewing. There he sits in a corner of the room, holding his 
seam with his big toe, giving self-important coughs, and staring 
eruditely over the top of his brass " specs " at his progress. 

Sitting at dinner, we hear a footstep in the portico, and a 
native glides in with the usual salaam. Shiva and Vishnu 
protect us ! It is the " box-wallah," or pedlar, at once the bless- 
ing and the curse of India. He does not condescend to carry his 
goods himself, that being done by a coolie, who darkens the door 
with the huge pack on his head. " No, no," we cry, "jao, jao!" 
(" gOi go ") ; but the box-wallah moves in calmly and implaca- 
bly as Fate, squats down, opens the bundle, and transforms the 
dining-room into a dry-goods store. Shawls, scarfs, handker- 
chiefs, neckties, collars, stockings, slippers, caps, frilling, jewel- 
lery, pens, ink, paper, scents, and ribbons lie in wide-spreading 
temptation. Can human nature resist it ? A side-long, half- 
relenting glance is given at an attractive piece of goods. The 
Sahib's weakness is the box-wallah's opportunity. He lays 
the article on your knee — " Here, Sahib, twelve rupee — ^you 
have it" "Too much — Fll give you six !" "Nay, Sahib, me 
poor man, one price, twelve rupee." " Six rupee." " Twelve 
rupee." "Six rupee!!" "Sahib" (deprecatingly), "you ga 
English shop, double price." " Yes, yes ; but you're not big 
English shop." Raising his joined hands solemnly to heaven,, 
the box-wallah vows his article is " dam cheap." Then, wily 
dog, he turns his oily tongue to the Mem Sahib and Missy 
Babas, and grins with ear-to-ear suavity : ** Beautfool, Mem 
Sahib — ^you put on — all right — beautfool — eleven rupee, Mem 
Sahib." But Sahib bursts out with "Jao, juldee!" ("Go, 
quickly ") — seven rupee !" and we turn our backs in indifference 
to his goods. The box-wallah relents a little : " All right, nine 
rupee." " Nay, nay, seven rupee." " Me one prke. Sahib — 
here, cheap price, eight rupee." This haggling is the " bate 
noir " of Calcutta. The bargain is closed, and away glides the 



3o6 Singing Round the World, 

box-wallah, no doubt laughing in his linen sleeve at his fifty 
per cent profit His chuckling is but short-lived, however, for 
in a few seconds we hear a wordy war at the gate, where the 
** durwan " or gatekeeper has got hold of him to extract the 
customary "dustooree" or commission on any sale he may 
have effected. This blackmail is universal. Whenever you 
hire a gharry, the gharry-wallah has to pay a percentage of so 
many annas to the "durwan," and also something to your 
"boy" who hailed him. When you buy anything in the 
bazaar, your servant, whenever your back is turned, pounces 
on the tradesman and demands his " dustooree." If your boy 
engages a barber or tailor for you the black-mail is at once 
extorted from the favoured tradesman. 

Our boys spoke English very badly, but we found the know- 
ledge of English on the part of servants to be a fatal qualifica- 
tion in the eyes of old Indians. ** Oh, Mr. Kennedy, you 
should not have taken one of those English-speaking boys, 
they're such awful thieves ! " It seems that it is an imperti- 
nence for a native to speak English to an old resident. " He 
daren't," we were told, " for he'd get something shied at his 
head double quick!" The young English prig, when he comes 
to Calcutta, makes a point of learning the strong language of 
Bengal, so as to accompany his boots and other missiles with 
appropriate remarks. Doubtless the native servants are not 
treated by the Europeans so harshly as by their own baboos 
and rajahs, who form the most arrogant aristocracy in the 
world ; but they arc treated in a manner one would scarcely 
adopt towards the lower classes in England. In up-country 
hotels you see the significant notice : — " The guests are 
requested not to ill-treat the servants." A young fellow who 
lived in this boarding-house told me his servant was about to 
leave him, "just because I gave him the strap too hard the 
other day!" I remember, too, when out driving with a friend 
up-country, there was a native in a cart before us. " Confound 
him!" cried my friend, " he's stirring up that dust on purpose ;** 
and drawing up alongside the cowering wallah, he gave him 
repeated lashes over his bare head. The natives are at times 



Burra Bazaar. 307 

very exasperating — slow, forgetful, and lazy — but not more so 
than would be servants picked out of the slums of our large 
cities. Furthermore, the common natives are cleaner, their 
streets more respectable and savoury, than the poor and the 
purlieus of London or Edinburgh. As regards cleanliness, 
every native bathes at least once a-day, and his clothing, 
consisting of linen tunic, scarf, and trousers, is such that it can 
be frequently washed. Then the garbage of the streets is 
removed by the regular scavengers, assisted by the unofficial 
hawks and crows by day, and the jackals by night ; while the 
highways and bye-ways are safer to the European than those 
of any home city. 

One of the sights of Calcutta is the Burra Bazaar, to see 
which we hired a gharry, that most wonderful public vehicle, 
drawn by a couple of dwarf, shaggy horses. The cab itself is 
a square, rickety affair, with sliding doors, so that you can box 
yourself in from the sun. . The wheels work at all angles. The 
bare planks on the floor are usually loose. If you lean your 
arms in the leather rests, one or other of the latter is sure to 
come off; and sometimes a window-sash tumbles upon your 
knee. A half-naked wallah is the driver ; his " man," whom 
you can distinguish by his being a third less clad, hangs on 
behind, in company with an ungainly bundle of hay, which is 
to fill the ragged nose-bags of the decrepit pair when you 
alight 

Near the Burra Bazaar the streets were so narrow that one 
was compelled to leave the gharry and walk. We stopped at 
a small shop, and bought a tin trunk for Rs. 8. It was 
characteristic of native business that the shopkeeper's first 
price was Rs. 1 3. We climbed up cramped, tortuous stairs in 
pitch darkness, our feet occasionally slipping in pools of water 
on the various landings. A crowd of natives, as is usually the 
case, followed in our wake. At last we emerged on a flat roof; 
then went across a landing to the creaking balcony of the 
adjoining building ; passing next through dusty attics filled 
with costly goods. A friend who accompanied us, jocularly 
asked a baboo if he had any second-hand frying-pans. **No" 



3o8 Singing Round i/ie World. 

replied Young Bengal, "haven't got them, but I'll sell you 
sdme second-hand gunpowder ! " This gentleman told us that 
on one occasion he went to a neighbouring bazaar to price a 
certain article, saying he would give Rs. 20 for it The figure 
asked was too extortionate, so he came to this Burra Bazaar, 
where in a dark den he priced some similar goods. In the 
middle of the bargaining, a voice came out of a dark comer, 
in a peculiar bazaar-patois which our friend understood : "The 
Sahib offered me more for it" It was the first shopkeeper, 
who had followed him all the way from the other bazaar. 
Upon this the Sahib sprung into the obscurity, dragged out 
the tradesman, and with a vigorous shove projected him down- 
stairs. Hearing the scuffle and the cries, the natives from all 
sides flew out angrily, armed with clubs, and it would have 
fared ill with our friend if they had not found out that his 
victim was a fellow from a rival bazaar. In one small room, 
package after package of silver jewellery was unfolded before 
us, till the floor was a glittering mass of heavy bracelets, 
brooches, and necklaces of barbaric weight and show. One is 
astonished to find costly goods in such forbidding holes and 
corners. It is the same as if the diamonds of Bond Street 
were sold in the garrets of Seven Dials. 

On our way home through China Bazaar, we were pestered 
by scores of natives who came into the middle of the roadway, 
plucked us by the sleeve, and entreated us to look at their hats, 
coats, boots, and umbrellas — booksellers also touting — and as 
if that were not enough, there were Hindoos leaning out and 
shouting at us from second-storey windows to come up and 
have our photograph taken in their studios ! When we got 
home I paid off the gharry-wallah, but was scarcely inside the 
door when I heard his voice crying anxiously, "Sahib! Sahib!" 
I went back and found him quarrelling with the " durwan," 
who had probably been too grasping. Not knowing a single 
word of their conversation, I was in considerable perplexity, 
when my aforementioned young friend burst out of his room, 
saying, " Hallo, Kennedy, can I help you with my knowledge 
of the language?" "Yes," I replied, "there's some dispute 



A Hindoo Festival. 309 

here about the gharry-wallah's fare." " The gharry-wallah ! '^ 
instantly exclaimed my energetic ally, " is that all ? " and 
before I could explain, he had taken the unfortunate native by 
the shoulders and kicked him clear down the flight of steps. 
This was a "knowledge of the language" that certainly 
surpassed mine ! The gharry-wallah picked himself up as if 
this were an ordinary occurrence, and the next I saw of him 
was at the gate, surrounded by a crowd of some sixty other 
natives, all vituperating the stolid ** durwan." 

This same night, or rather about two A.M., I was awakened 
by footsteps at my bedside, and saw a dim figure hurrying out 
at the door. After five minutes' silence, during which nothing 
was heard but the humming of countless mosquitoes, there 
•commenced a peculiar sneezing and grunting ; but upon my 
remarking "Shoo!" it ceased. I fell asleep, and remember 
nothing more till I was lying in the dim morning light, with 
Gollam Hossein bringing me my " chota hazaree." Through 
the mosquito-curtains I could see him stop dead, the tea and 
toast almost dropping from his hand. " Mas'r, what's that ? " 
I peered through the muslin and beheld a young donkey ! — a 
wretched beast, with extravagantly long ears, and its four legs 
stretched out at acute angles to prop up its feeble frame. With 
some difficulty Gollam removed the donkey, the animal top- 
pling over when the process of eviction became too violent It 
turned out that my young friend the boarder, returning from a 
prolonged convivial party, had picked up the donkey on the 
Maidan, and shouldered it home to my bedroom ! 

We drove through the chief thoroughfare of the native 
quarter during the height of a " Pooja," or festival The street 
seethed with Hindoos, all in their snowiest linen. From the 
intersecting lanes gushed crowds of people, swelling the stream 
that filled the main street — a stream that lapped up into door- 
ways and windows. Tom-toms were beating, cymbals clashing, 
pipes squeaking, people shouting and surging after the idols 
borne high over their heads. The god was Kartick, a four- 
armed monster, with a yellow face, fierce moustache, an abom- 
inable squint, and sitting on a peacock, the spreading tail of 



3IO Singi?ig Round the World, 

which formed a canopy to the figure. Looking down the street, 
we saw a dazzling perspective — a dense white crowd, relieved 
by the gay-painted idols that seemed floating on a sea of heads. 
At night the native quarter was ablaze with a multitude of 
little cressets or oil-lamps hung in front of houses and shops, 
while the sky was studded' with scores of fire-balloons. 

Every forenoon, on our way to the hall, we crossed the open 
Maidan, which is covered with herds of decrepit donke3rs and 
skinny kine. The roads are lively with Hindoos returning 
from their river-bath, the men drying their shoulder linen by 
streaming it over their heads in the breeze. Women pass us, 
wringing their wet hair — graceful, as are all the Bengali 
women, and carrying their brass " lota " or water- vessel under 
their arm. Prettier than all are the entirely nude cherubs who 
frolic along by their mother's side. Driving round into Old 
Court House Street, we encounter scores of itinerant vendors, 
who run alongside our gharry door, poking their goods upon 
us. First we are besieged by a man with looking-glasses and 
paraffin-lamps. Then the view is eclipsed by an enormous 
tea-tray. "Here Sahib!" cries a wallah, breathlessly, " here, 
scent-bottle !" but he is out-shouted by the fellow at the 
opposite side, who puts cans of potted meat upon our knee. 
We have scarcely got the ham and tongue successfully waved 
off, when half-a-dozen bars of soap triumphantly take their 
place. The Vendor of an oil-painting does not run far. Then 
we begin to wonder whether the man with the opera-glasses or 
the one with the cloud of sun-hats will win the race, when fresh 
blood arrives from an adjoining corner in the shape of a fellow 
who flutters down on us with peacock fans. An exasperated 
" Jao !" repulses him, and looking out, we see his next victim, 
a choleric major, leaning out of his cab and whacking the fans 
to pieces with his cane. 

One Sunday night we went to the Free Kirk, which was 
much like kirks at home, only the pews were wide, and had 
cane-bottomed chairs in them. The lattice windows were 
thrown wide open to admit the air. They also admitted the 
multitudinous sounds from the thronging bazaars. It was 



European Calcutta, 311 

unique to hear the " Old Hundred " accompanied by a tom- 
tom, an approach, perhaps, to the universal worship on the part 
of " all people that on earth do dwell." We went also to St 
Andrew's Church in Dalhousie Square. The church is 
spacious, and the floor of marble. The punkahs were in full 
swing — large punkahs for the people, and a little one wagging 
over the pulpit Another Sunday we visited the Cathedral. 
The splendid edifice looked gay, if one can use that term in 
reference to a church, what with the brilliance of the lights, the 
bright painting, and the large and fashionable assembly. It 
was a full choral service, admirably executed. One incident, 
however, marred the evening. Two baboos wandered by 
mistake into the Viceroy's pew, which happened to be 
unoccupied. Seeing this, a gentleman seated behind the choir 
became visibly agitated, hurried conspicuously down the long 
central aisle and whispered mysteriously to the usher. The 
latter, with much show of bustle, ousted the luckless native 
gentlemen from their seats. The whole proceeding was in 
questionable taste. 

European Calcutta leads a very artificial life, partly owing 
to the climate. The dinner-hour ranges from seven to eight 
o'clock, so that our entertainment, like others, had to commence 
at nine. Persons anxious about their health make a point 
of rising at six, to have a stroll in the cool hours of the 
morning. This is about the only time you see Europeans 
walking, save at eleven or twelve o'clock at night, when you 
may observe one or two gentlemen, in full evening dress^ 
sauntering from the theatre to their " chummery." No Euro- 
pean walks during the day, and everyone has his gharry, 
phaeton, or brougham. If a clerk in a warehouse invites you 
to dinner, he sends his carriage for you. Things are done on 
a princely scale in Calcutta, but style can be kept up very 
cheaply. A gentleman may have a dozen domestics, and they 
will not cost him more than perhaps two servants in England. 
Still, people live up to their incomes, and extravagance is a 
prevailing sin, fostered by the fashion of making money the 
test of social position. This is the more invidious, as the 



312 Singing Roufid t/ie World. 

whites of India are largely salaried officials, and one's income 
is known. It acts ruinously upon that class whose pretensions 
are beyond their purses. Native caste is thoroughly reproduced 
in European society — the same caste that reigned in the 
beleagured g^arrison of Lucknow, when the iliU preserved their 
hauteur amid the shot and shell of the Residency. Indian life 
is coagulated into cliques, but if you get ** into the swim/' you 
may depend upon prodigal hospitality. Another peculiarity 
of European life in India is, that there are no white mechanics, 
no farmers. An engineer or a carpenter, when he arrives in 
the country, becomes an overseer ; the natives do the manual 
labour. Not that there are no poor whites in India. One is 
astonished to iind that in this '' imperial " country there should 
be so many poverty-stricken Englishmen. Poverty is no 
crime in any country save India, where it is inveighed against 
in vehement terms. The European detests the sight of a 
** mean white," the distastefulness acquiring two-thirds of its 
poignancy from the fact that the disgrace is witnessed by the 
servile race. The Englishman, who lives in a state of 
continual pose as a person of wealth and influence, is in short 
ashamed of his " poor relations." 

One phase of Calcutta life is to be seen in the twilight-drive 
down the Course. The heat of the day is over, and all the 
rank and fashion turn out Pale-complexioned ladies, 
merchants, clerks, professional men, rich natives, are all here, 
on horseback or in their carriage. See, there is Captain D., in 
his Japanese chair-carriage, drawn by a trotting Mongolian 
servant There is the great Mr. S., of the firm of S. & Ca, 
who came out here in the old prosperous years as a steward in 
a P. & O. steamer. There is Mrs. Y., the great amateur 
singer, and pet of numberless **at homes." There is Baboo 
Ram Lall Doss, the rich Hindoo merchant, lying back in his 
costly shawls. There is Mr. Jabberjee Chatterjee, the bland 
Parsee tradesman. Here is the Rajah of Bouncepore, dashing 
along at a swift pace as do most of the native gentlemen, 
preceded and followed by two native horse-soldiers in red- 
plumed helmets and shining breast-plates. Oh, and here, too. 



The Twilight Drive. 313 

IS young Brown, just free from his desk, and airing his little 
Burmese " tat " or pony. Here comes a. portly nabob rolling 
in his gorgeous equipage, his coachman a white maa ** Oh," 
whispers a friend to me, '* whenever I see that degradation my 
blood boils !" Europeans and natives all blend in the stream, 
which cannot consist of less than two hundred carriages. But 
the two races have no more affinity than oil and water. The 
whites ignore the native gentlemen as much as they do the 
trees by the wayside. While this is going on, there is a band 
playing in the Eden Gardens. A long lawn is encircled by 
gas-jets in ground-glass globes, that shed a softened light upon 
the throng of beauty. In the dark grove on our right, shoot 
scores of gleaming fire-flies. Outside there are other fire-flies, 
for the stream on the Course has broken up, and the Maidan 
roads are glittering with the lamps of the carriages driving 
home to dinner. 

Calcutta is not a " city of palaces," but a city of colleges it 
assuredly is. The "higher education" of Bengal is one of the 
most interesting developments of British rule. There are 
Government Colleges, and the institutions of the various reli- 
^ous bodies. Chief among the latter is the General Assembly's 
Institution, founded by Dr. Duff. Under the guidance of the 
Principal, the Rev. Mr. Hastie, we visited this large building, 
which occupies one side of Comwallis Square. This is 
peculiarly the mission-district of Calcutta, most of the institu- 
tions being within stone's throw of each other. The first room 
we were taken into contained a children's class, the young 
heathen of which were at that moment loudly proclaiming 
there was only one true faith, the Christian religion. I cannot 
imagine what their orthodox fathers and mothers say to this, 
but they seemingly " take the risk" of their young ones being 
converted. They are quite aware that the Sahib's religion is 
in the curriculum, and they ignore this for the sake of their 
children gaining secular instruction. We saw an advanced 
class in the College Department reading "The Lord of the 
Isles," with copious marginal notes. The students ranged 
apparently from sixteen to twenty-two years of age, and unlike 

u 



314 »S'///^/;/^ Rou7id t/ie World. 

students at home, many were married men and fathers. Another 
class were studying Sanscrit under a venerable native pundit, 
a high-caste Brahmin with a little pigtail* In a third room, 
about fifty or sixty Hindoos were engaged in natural philo- 
sophy, or higher mathematics, under a native professor of 
consummate ability. 

The Bible is taught also in the Collie Department. Chris- 
tian work is as yet but a faint cry in a vast wilderness, and no 
wonder the missionary sometimes feels depressed. The Hindoo 
is the most diflficult subject in the whole range of Christian 
effort He will be " Anglicised " many a long day before he 
is Christianised. His mind is not a blank like that of the 
Kafir. His heart and head have to be purged from idolatry 
and powerful prejudices, a stage successfully reached in many 
cases without, on the other hand, the student imbibing the 
principles of European religion. The first result of breaking a 
Hindoo from his old ways is to produce a violent reaction. He 
reads Strauss and R6nan, and keeps pace with the theological 
speculations of the magazines. He sneers at ever)^hing not 
European, and dresses in a costume, half Oriental, half English^ 
that is but a reflex of his mongrel mental condition. There 
are few real converts made, though there have been numerous 
hypocrites, who have brought contempt upon the Christian 
name by their loose living and debauchery. We heard of a 
little girl running up to her mamma in a state of great anxiety^ 
cr>'ing : " I'm a European, ain't I ? The ayah says that I'm a 
Christian." " And what did you think a Christian was, child?** 
" Why, of course, a native that wears the Sahib's clothes and 
drinks brandy 1 " 

Two days afterwards we heard, in the lecture-hall of this 
institution, an address by the Rev. Dr. Bannerjea, the first 
convert of Dr. Duff. He was seventy years of age, of vener- 
able appearance, had a bald head, long white side-whiskers, 
and but for the darkish skin and slight foreign accent, might 
have been mistaken for a Free Kirk professor — a Church of 
Scotland professor, I should say, as Dr. Bannerjea pins his 
colours to the " Auld Kirk." To bring this subtle distinction 



" A Man's a Man for d thatr 3 1 $ 

of sects into the broad realm of heathendom is very absurd- 
The proceedings commenced by the Hindoo secretary, a 
nervous youth, reading with quavering voice a report of the 
Young Men's Literary Society, in connection with which the 
meeting was held. There were 300 or 400 students present. 
They had the bearded heads of men and the manner of boys, 
laughing, talking, and in an excitable state most of the time. 
The lecture was followed by speeches from the missionaries. 
One speaker scolded the students because they did not 
prosecute study for its own sake, but simply to procure a good 
Government appointment Another denounced the native 
propensity to lying, and counselled them to be straightforward 
in their dealings. My father was called upon for a song, and 
gave them " A man's a man for a' that," which did not seem to 
create much enthusiasm amongst the young Bengalis. Perhaps 
it sounded too much like an attack on caste! Some days 
afterwards, one of the professors met us and said, "Mr. 
Kennedy, you positively frightened the poor Bengalis with the 
vigour and spirit of your song ; if there had been fewer of them 
there, they would certainly have run out ! " 

On the other side of Cornwallis Square is the Bengali Girls* 
College, which institution we surprised at the tiffin hour. 
Ascending the stairs that led to the large open tesselated 
court, we saw a charming sight — bevies of little girls playing 
about in " sarees " of yellow, red, and green — the bright sun- 
light glancing on their lithe forms as they sported round the 
pink pillars of the portico. We stood on the steps, the little 
ones gathering in 'picturesque groups, gazing in childish 
curiosity at us with their large liquid eyes — some with their 
chubby faces beaming with merriment As if a panic had 
seized them, they suddenly broke up and flitted into the class- 
rooms. Going into the school, we could scarce believe that 
those rows of demure damsels, busy at arithmetic, were the 
same romping beauties we had seen a few minutes before. For 
our entertainment, they were gathered on a raised platform, 
where they sang " God save the Queen " in amusingly broken 
English — also a quaint Bengali song. We were told that one 



3i6 Singing Round the World. 

of the little girls was a "married women." Which was she? 
Oh, that one there, dressed in green, with the ring in her nose. 
Her name being called out, the matron stood up bashfully, her 
thumb in her mouth. To-day, her lessons being more than 
usually correct, she explained that her husband had kindly 
helped her. But then he was double her age, being fourteen 
years old. In an adjoining room we heard some young 
Bengali ladies sing in the vernacular a "Prayer for the 
Prosperity of India." Several of them were " Brahmos " — that 
is, their fathers were followers of the great Chunder Sen, the 
latest prophet of the new theistic religion. A look over the 
shoulder of a girl who was studying " Psychology," and then 
we said good-bye. 

On the following Sunday evening we were invited by the 
Rev. Mr. Macdonald to visit the Free Church Institution for 
Bengalis, founded by Dr. DuflF after the Disruption. We drove 
in a two-horse open carriage through streets crowded with 
traffic, the two " syces " or grooms constantly leaping off the 
back of the vehicle, and running ahead to clear the way, with 
many cries in Hindostanee of " Out of the way, you jungly- 
wallah ! — hi, there, you with the fruit-basket ! — look out, old 
woman ! — stop a bit, you palki-wallahs ! — to the right, you pig 
of a bullock-driver!*' Once we almost ran down a party of 
natives carrying a sheeted corpse. On one hand, church-bells 
were pealing ; a large Hindoo theatre, with its flood of light, 
was admitting its crowds ; while an adjoining burning-ghaut 
was sending its lurid smoke high into the night air. Close by 
was the institution, where a sermon was preached in English 
by one of the missionaries. There were about 150 natives 
present, of whom a number were mere boys. None of them 
were Christians, but students and others casually attracted 
The service opened with a Bengali hymn. There was a screen 
at one corner, behind which sat the choir unseen by the 
congregation. As I afterwards found, it consisted of one of 
the lady teachers ; three Christian native giris ; a Christian 
Brahmin, Mr. Mookerjee, who led the choir ; and two native 
instrumentalists, who sat cross-legged on cushions. It was 



Indian Church Music, 317 

with great effort we kept grave while the hymn was being 
performed. It was so irregular and wild, and the instruments 
— oh, the instruments ! There was a big guitar, that struck off 
four prolonged chords as an introduction. Then the verse 
commenced, a drum also accompanying. How the performer 
seemed to be wrestling with his instrument, coaxing it, stroking 
it, tickling it, producing sounds from it that I never heard from 
a drum before — groans, murmurs, knocks, rumbels — his fingers 
now and again rippling over the skin and ending with a 
sounding "skelp !" Then his contortions, dimly seen through 
the screen ! The ludicrous, like the beautiful, is intensified by 
a little mystery. This drum was a long-bodied affair, to which 
an octave is added or subtracted by the performer simply 
sticking on or taking off a lump of dough in the centre of the 
tympanum — a practical illustration of the " movable Doh !" 
This was volubly explained to us at the close by Mr. 
Mookerjee, who is a ** card," speaks English fluently, " chaffs " 
the missionaries, and is a sharp, cheery fellow. He accom- 
panied us to the Rev. Mr. 's house, and joined us in 

several of Moody and Sankey's hymns, during which we were 
interrupted by a pack of jackalls that swept howling down the 
street Mr. Mookerjee then showed us the immense 
superiority of Bengali over European music : how the former 
had twenty-two sounds in its scale (quarter and one-third 
tones), while the latter had no lower subdivision than semi- 
tones ; how the Bengali scales were geometrically perfect, 
while ours were formed by temperament — with other learned 
matter. He was a composer, too — oh yes, that had long been 

a hobby of his. Now and then the Rev. Mr. would add 

some information, but glib Mr. Mookerjee burst in with, " Oh ! 
you know nothing at all about it ; Til get your wife to shut 
you up !" Next day I called at Mookerjee's office, where he 
showed me some ancient Sanscrit music, and some antique 
instruments that ** surpassed the piano ;" amongst others, a 
large guitar which he avowed was identical with the ten- 
stringed psaltery of King David. 

In company with a lady-missionary, my sisters one forenoon 



3i8 ^i^iging Round tlie World. 

visited a Zenana. They drove some miles through the native 
town, arriving at a large house in a busy thoroughfare. The 
dwellings of the wealthier baboos are built in the form of a 
hollow square, which during "poojas** or festivals is roofed in 
with canvas and illuminated. On its north side stands the 
family idoL The lady-missionary opened the gate, and they 
walked across the outer court Ascending an outside stair 
they at length reached a balcony overlooking the inner court 
There were eight brothers in this large house, with their eight 
wives. A Zenana is not a harem — ^it is an aggregate of distinct 
households, but all of one family. At the head of the stair two 
little girls met the party — the two daughters of the eldest 
brother's wife. It is reckoned a great honour to be welcomed 
and escorted by the daughters of the house. The children 
tripped along, and led my sisters to the end of the balcony, 
where they met an array of timorous femininity in diaphanous 
robes. The wives came forward, shook hands, and conducted 
the visitors into a bedroom, where stood two rows of chairs — an 
unusual addition to the furniture, couches and cushions being 
the Oriental fashion. My sisters sat and admired the abun- 
dant jewellery, for they were previously told it would give great 
offence if they failed to examine and comment upon each 
lady's adornment They wore anklets, bracelets, necklaces, 
jewels in the hair, rings on the fingers, rings in their ears, rings 
in their noses, and round the waist a girdle of jewels. The 
latter was not ordinarily visible, but the ladies kindly raised 
their " saree " to show it The wives are called " bows." They 
are not allowed to be seen by any man but their husband and 
male relatives. No other is ever admitted near them. It is 
even thought "bad form" to ask after a baboo's wife and family. 
You see women every day walking about the streets, but these 
are low-caste women, to whom "all things are common." 
Though the Zenana ladies are kept in close confinement, they 
exercise great control over affairs public and private. Nothing 
is discussed, be it a son's education, a marriage, or business 
speculation, without the wife having a voice in the matter, 
either to veto or encourage. 



A Zenana. 319 

To return to our tale. These wives as a rule never left the 
house. They had not been out for months, and did not know 
when they would have that luxury. They looked plump and 
healthy enough, and have a good deal of freedom, there being 
the large open court in which to disport, in company with 
peacocks and rare birds. They are gentle, affectionate creatures, 
and very timid in the presence of strangers. They had beauti- 
fully-shaped heads, lovely black hair, and lustrous ^y^s. A 
baby of a few months old was handed round for admiration. 
Then the party were taken to a table where refreshments were 
laid out One dish was potatoes and chicken. On a silver 
salver were a variety of eatables — "chupatties" or cakes, dough 
nuts sugared and plain, three-cornered " puffs," and " dall," a 
description of pea. There were mango-jam, sugar-cane chopped 
up in little pieces, bananas, the papaw fruit, and " bracelets " of 
candy. Lastly, there was " pawn," which the natives eat as a 
" digestive," composed of betel nut, nutmeg, and lime, wrapped 
up in a green leaf, and pinned together with cloves. My 
sisters had to eat this spicy preparation. The native lady 
chews the " pawn " throughout the day. Poor creature ! her 
mind is a blank through want of education ; she has nothing 
to occupy her thoughts but her husband and her other 
jewels! Scented water to drink was now handed round, 
and what was left was used to dip the fingers in. Every- 
thfng was eaten with the fingers of the right hand, there 
being no plates, knives, or forks. The eldest brother's wife 
performed all the duties of hospitality ; the other wives paid 
her homage. Occasionally they would accidentally jostle her, 
when they would stoop, kiss her feet, and touch their head in 
respect While the visitors were eating, the wives formed a 
circle round them. They kindly explained that if the Euro- 
pean ladies did not like this, they would leave the room, but 
that they did it as an Eastern act of courtesy. They were 
greatly amused at my sisters' red cheeks, and wanted to know 
"if it was paint, or what?" Before leaving, the party were 
taken into the bedroom of the eldest brother's wife, who 
sprinkled them with the precious attar of roses — giving them 



320 Singing Round iJie World. 

also a little cotton wool dipped in the same scent, which the 
visitors had to put in the right ear. One of my sisters was 
then presented with a " saree " out of a wardrobe, after which 
the two little girls again led the way, the party waving a good- 
bye to the balcony where the ladies stood graciously salaaming 
in return. 

Another lengthy drive brought them to the house of a 
Maharanee, or wife of a Maharajah. She was ushered into the 
room, accompanied by her governess and some relatives, all 
exquisitely dressed. The Maharanee was robed in a green 
muslin under-dress and a white "saree" trimmed with gold 
beautifully fluted at the edge. Her hair hung in a long plait, 
in which was entwined a piece of gold ribbon. This coiffure 
was remarkable, as even the youngest Bengali girl wears her 
hair in a Grecian coil. She was pretty in feature, though not 
graceful in person, wore embroidered shoes and white 
stockings, but altogether was not so neat as the women in the 
Zenana. The latter showed more freedom in their attire, while 
this Maharanee seemed aiming at the European fashion of 
dress by increasing the weight and number of her wearing 
robes. She is about fifteen years of age, and not long married ; 
possesses a little education, is fond of painting, and sketches 
very well. Music also seems to be a hobby of hers. She 
requested one of my sisters to favour her with " Robben Ad- 
air," and in return sang and played a simple native air. As at 
the other house, there was the gift of a saree at parting. 

Still another long drive brought them to a Brahmin's house. 
The good lady had been expecting her visitors for an hour, 
and being weary, had disrobed herself of her " braws." She 
was very aristocratic in bearing, but as our friends stayed and 
chatted, she seemed to unbend a little. She brought out an 
immense piece of fancy work, which bore some little 
resemblance to the tapestry feats of queens of old. In the 
house was a widow, who seemed to feel the full force of 
her fate. No Hindoo woman is allowed to marry twice. 
Now that suttee has been abolished, she is condemned 
to life-long widowhood. This poor female stood at the 



A SaU on the Hooghly. 321 

door of the room, and would not speak a word. She 
has never combed her hair since her husband's death, and 
never will. The Brahmin's wife was allowing one of her finger- 
nails to grow an extraordinary length, so that she might go 
with It to a certain shrine and there pare it off as an offering to 
the idol. When her visitors asked for an explanation she 
laughed, and all the others laughed. She would not tell what 
sin she had committed, or what wish she desired fulfilled. This 
ended the series of visits. The lady-teacher goes the round of 
the Zenanas regularly, reading the Bible and talking to the 
women. The latter are possessed of many domestic virtues 
and graces of character, but it will be long, I fear, ere their 
minds are enlightened and raised above vanities. The first 
step to rapid advancement would be the enfranchisement of 
the women from the Zenana system, but here you have to 
fight the iron law of caste and custom. 

We met with many kind friends in Calcutta, receiving now 
an invitation to a recherchi dinner; now having an evening 
stroll on the flat roof of a friend's house in Dalhousie Square, 
the bright moon glittering on the waters of the tank, and 
lighting up dome and spire. A pleasant memory is that of a 
sail in a steam launch to Barrackpore, fifteen miles up the 
Hooghly, and opposite Serampore, famed in missionary annals. 
We steamed under the wooden Hooghly bridge, one of the 
largest floating bridges in the world — 1530 feet long and forty- 
six feet wide. The river, with its crowds of native budgerows 
and dinghies, and occasionally a crocodile splashing lazily in 
the stream, had a very picturesque appearance. Squat Hindoo 
temples, embedded in peepul trees, alternated with busy jute 
mills on either bank. Equally enjoyable was the sail to the 
Botanical Gardens, a few miles down the river, where a friend 
entertained us to a bounteous pic-nic. Eight native servants 
promptly laid the cloth and set the dishes. Six of them 
waited upon us, while two tried to keep off the swarms of kites 
and crows that gathered above and around us. One hungry 
kite had the audacity to swoop down and make away with a 
roast fowl my father happened to be carving. We strolled 



322 Singing Round the World, 

round the gardens, then returned to the river down a beautiful 
avenue of mahogany-trees. 

We sang for a month in Calcutta, in the Dalhousie Institute. 
The acoustics of the building were not satisfactory, but a kind 
friend, connected with the shipping, draped the room with 
pennants and union-jacks, which were taken down and renewed 
as vessels happened to leave or arrive. The side-room was 
bare, hot, comfortless, and swarming with ants, while along its 
walls darted lizards in pursuit of flies. During the concert, 
some of the quiet pathetic songs would be spoilt by the wild 
cries of the jackals in the gardens — an unearthly sound, half 
mew, half bark, as if each brute were mimicking a cat-and-dog 
fight Our ticket-seller was the baboo in charge of the hall, a 
-college-bred native, and proprietor of one of the best nurseries 
in Calcutta. The doorkeeper and usher were two young 
Eurasians or half-castes. The audiences were cultured and 
appreciative — mostly reserved-seat people, as few Europeans 
care about being seen in second-class seats. Our back seats 
were composed of soldiers and sailors. Once-a-week the 
warmth of the audience would be sensibly raised by the influx 
of a large party of hearty Scotsmen from some of the jute-mills 
on the river. " Confound the Kennedys !'* cried a gallant 
captain on the wharf ; " they've made my life unbearable ! 
Everybody says everywhere, Have you been to hear the 
Kennedys ? When I say to a friend. What's going on to-day? 
he answers, O whistle an* Til come to ye, my lad ; and if I 
ask. How are you keeping ? he says. My heart is sair for some- 
body !" Another, a Scotsman, remarked to an acquaintance : 
" rd gang an' hear the singers, but the fack is I can listen to 
them in ma hoose the ither side o' the street ; I gang to ma 
bed airly, ye see, an' the bother is that they wauken me up 
when they come to their lood sangs!" It was very trying 
work, singing every night in this weather, and in fact one 
night the concert had to be put off*, as my father was down 
with a feverish attack. He recovered sufficiently for next 
evening, but after that, we took the precaution of having an 
occasional rest 



Trains and Travellers. 323 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



Travelling in India — A Railway town — A Military Station — Holy Benares — A 
search for a Piano— Temples and ** Baksheesh " — Allahabad — An up-country 
Station — Hindoo devotees — Jubbulpore. 

• 

Now commenced our " mofussil " or up-country journey. Our 
ideas of Indian railways had been completely revolutionised. 
We had vaguely imagined the traffic to be an occasional 
' limited train, containing one or two wealthy Europeans, and 
perhaps a few portly nabobs, and that the lines were princi- 
pally kept up for military purposes. But we found the trains 
•consisted of about twenty-one carriages; that the overwhelming 
native traffic made the railways the best paying speculations in 
the country, and that but for the natives the Europeans would 
not enjoy such cheap travelling. The classes are divided into 
First, Second, Intermediate, and Third. Wealthy Europeans 
and native princes travel first-class, the latter reserving special 
compartments to themselves. A considerable number of the 
whites travel second-class ; half-castes and some natives travel 
intermediate ; but the great mass of the natives travel third- 
class. No native, as a rule, travels amongst Europeans. A 
gentleman told me that he was once in a first-class carriage 
with two ladies, when a Parsee had the " impertinence " to 
come in beside them. "Either you or we must leave the 
carriage !" exclaimed the irate European, who said to me he 
felt it his duty to remonstrate, as " one of the ruling race ! " 
The first and second-class carriages are roomy and comfortable, 
while several of the windows being tinted blue, you can enjoy 
a cool livid landscape. A seat means the whole seat, so that 
every white can sleep full length during the long journeys of 
India. In this way, eight Europeans will enjoy as much space 
as is alloted to sixty natives. 

When we got to the platform we found it occupied by 



324 Singing Round the World, 

jostling crowds of natives, like holiday Cockneys surging to 
the Crystal Palace. Their baggage consisted of bundles of 
every size and shape — the "swell" native going into his 
carriage followed by his servants, one carrying his luggage^ 
another his large " hookha " or pipe. As many of the crowd 
as possible were put into the carriages, but there were some 
scores penned off when the train started. At each station a 
"bheestie" came round crying "Pawnee!" (water), and the 
crowded, thirsty natives stretched out their hands for a drink. 
The scenery, as is the case over all the plains of India, was not 
remarkably attractive. First, there were stretches of jungle^ 
with monkeys flitting through the trees — then sunny yellow 
fields of "paddy" or rice. In the midst of tracts of tall 
feathery grass could be seen green mango " topes," or small 
clumps of trees. Every few miles were miserable Hindoo 
" clachans " — groups of mud huts, with natives perched on high 
scaffoldings keeping their crops clear of crows, whilst others 
were tilling the soil with their primitive ploughs. Over the 
land hung a heavy simmering heat, to escape which the 
buffalo-cattle were submerged to the nostrils in the pools and 
lagoons. 

At length we reached our destination, Assensole, 130 miles 
from Calcutta. There is no hotel in the little railway-town, so 
we were kindly entertained at the bungalows of two friends, 
our luggage being conveyed from the station, a long distance, 
on the heads of coolies. We sang next in Jumm&lpore, called 
" the Crewe of Bengal," on account of its large railway repair- 
ing shops ; then went to Dinapore, a military station. One of 
the most characteristic institutions of up-country India is the 
military station. It generally lies two or three miles outside 
of a large native city, just as if Woolwich were holding London 
at bay, or " Jock*s Lodge " keeping watch over Edinburgh. On 
the one hand you have a closely-packed native population— on 
the other, some 200 or 300 Europeans in widely-scattered 
bungalows, occupying about the same area as the swarming 
city. Every house of the " station " stands in a compound or 
paddock of two or three acres, surrounded by a low dessicat- 



Dinapore, 325 

ing wall of mud, surmounted by the prickly cactus to keep out 
snakes and wild beasts. The bungalow itself is one-storied> 
built of brick, and coarsely white-washed — rather shabby .on 
the whole, and typical of the discomfort and negligence within. 
You ascend one or two steps and find yourself in a broad 
verandah under the rough thatched eaves. All around you 
stretch glades as in a park, and through the trees you see 
glimmering the distant white line of barracks. There is 
perfect stillness and glare in the hot noon, nothing being heard 
but the occasional whistling of kites and the rustle of little 
squirrels as they scamper across the road. Now and then you 
may see a solitary white-helmeted soldier strolling down the 
avenue with his dog; or a red-jacketed native carrying the 
cantonment letters. Most of the station-people are indoors. 
The subaltern lazily smokes in his bungalow, plays with his 
terrier, or chats with some brother-officer who has dropped in 
with the latest gossip from the mess-room. In the extensive, 
double-storied, well-aired barracks, " Tommy Atkins*' maybe 
seen in his shirt-sleeves, smoking his short "clay," perhaps 
playing cards with his " mates," or lolling over the newspaper 
in the reading-room. " Tommy " likes India despite its heat, 
for he has higher pay than at home, easier work, and the 
additional privilege of " bullying the nigger." Looking down 
the vista of continuous bungalows that compose the soldiers' 
quarters, you see the wife of Sergeant Gubbins busy over the 
wash-tub, or Mrs. Thomas Atkins soaping the dusty faces and 
combing the hair of her as yet robust children. Here and 
there rise the high parallel walls of racket-courts, and beyond 
them stretches a vast maidan, where in the early morning the 
troops parade ere the heat of the day sets in. Still further off 
can be dimly seen the Sepoy lines — rows of huts built of mud 
on a bamboo framework, and thatched with straw — where the 
native soldier lives and moves, with his loves and hates, in a 
distinct world of his own. 

Dinapore is twelve miles from Patna, which latter consists of 
thousands of mud houses inhabited by a populace described as 
" devoted to banking and commerce ! " Dinapore had no hotel, 



326 Singing Round the World. 

so we lived at the railway refreshment-room, and drove down 
to the cantonments, distant three miles. We sang in the 
garrison theatre to a good audience, consisting of some rows of 
officers and their ladies, backed by a solid phalanx of red coats. 
When we got back to the railway station we found it strewn 
with sleeping natives, but by careful stepping we reached the 
door, to find it locked. After shouts at front and rear, we were 
leisurely admitted by a drowsy baboo. In the dead of night 
two drunken Englishmen came noisily into the refreshment 
bar, but the baboo refused to serve them, as it was long past 
hours. Then there was a wild scuffle, during which we could 
hear the poor native lamenting his " broken nose," and one of 
the Englishmen roaring that the "d— d baboo had torn his 
beard out ! " With the help of some other natives the obstrep- 
erous couple were turned out. One of them shortly wished to 
" make friends," but the baboo declared he " wouldn't shake 
hands with him — no, not for a lac of rupees 1 " 

Next morning I met an Irishman on the platform. Fve 
been a guard for thirteen years out here," said he, " and I'm 
going home in two months' time. There's no chance for a man 
here. Look at that native over there. He's only been a few 
months in the company's service, and now he's assistant station- 
master!" There are more people than this Irishman who 
grumble. All the old residents growl that " India is going to 
the dogs" — i.e., going to the natives. It is unblushingly stated 
that legislation should be all for British interests ; that the 
native is too much petted ; that education is too wide-spread ; 
that soon there will be another mutiny, etc., etc What the 
British have to fear now is not a military mutiny, but an educa- 
tional rising, as the tide of capable baboos is month by month 
increasing. 

Leaving Dinapore, a journey of 130 miles brought us to holy 
Benares. The train was filled with pilgrims, for the fSkir, 
instead of crawling on his belly hundreds of miles, now travels 
third-class. He finds that the gods do not object, so long as 
the offerings are as ample as ever. Leaving the railway 
station, we crossed the Ganges on a bridge of boats, amid a 



Hiring a Piano, 327 

• 

dense, picturesque crowd of natives. Then after two or three 
miles' drive we reached the hotel in the cantonments. The 
first business was to get a Piano for the concert, as we did not 
carry our own small instrument with us on this tour. India 
beats the world for bad pianos, either owing to the climate, the 
want of tuning, or the fact of people flying to the hills and so 
not troubling themselves to buy good instruments. Wretched 
though they be, it is a most difficult task getting one. The 
following was a common experience. "You want a piano? oh, 
Mr. White, the storekeeper, is sure to have one ; I'd lend you 
mine, only Mr. Black borrowed it for his garden party — you 
can call on him too, if you like." So says a friend ; and hiring 
a gharry, I drive off to Mr. White. We proceed down a long 
avenue, and turn sharp off into a gateway. I am about to call 
the gharry-wallah's attention to his mistake in taking me to a 
private house, when I see a board : " White & Co., General 
Merchants and Provision Dealers." Then rolling along a 
carriage-way, as if approaching the country residence of some 
lord, we at length arrive at an imposing stone building, the 
interior of which is stocked with hams, crockery, stationery, 
millinery, and medicine. Mr. White's piano has lost a leg, and 
there is a serious hiatus in the keyboard which renders it use- 
less. "But I'm sure Mr. Brown will oblige you," says the 
general merchant ; and going to the gharry-wallah, he gives 
him lengthy directions in Hindostanee that bode ill for the 
distance to Mr. Brown. A mile and a-half of hot dusty roads, 
with infrequent houses to relieve the view, brings us to another 
gateway, and we drive round in front of Mr. Brown's bungalow. 
A native is crouched in the porch, but he gathers himself up,, 
salaams profoundly, and bears my card indoors. In a few 
moments the fibre matting that covers the door is thrown 
aside, and Mr. Brown comes out, evidently disturbed at some 
meal. " Never lend my piano ! — never ! — my wife doesn't 
like it ; but I'm positive that Madame Sepia, the music- 
teacher, will do so — she usually does." "Good afternoon;'* 
and away I drive to get broiled once more in the small 
close gharry. The house lies two miles in another direction 






328 Singing Round the World. 

and getting there I find that " Mem Sahib " has gone out few 
her evening ride. The sun has set now, and there is nothing 
for it but to drive wearily back to Smith and Ca to get 
another name. " No, they knew nobody else — except Mrs. 
Green ; why didn't they think of her before ? — she lent the 
piano for the last entertainment that came round." With hope 
springing anew in my breast, I urge the gharry-wallah to 
" Joa, juldee!" and the poor tired horse struggles bravely on. 
We pass down long shadowy avenues, through noisy oil-flaring 
native streets, out again amongst the trees the air filled with 
pernicious dew and pungent bazaar-smoke, arriving after three 
miles and a-half at a solitary house, A Mr. Gray appears, who 
tells me that Mrs. Green lives in the other half of the same 
bungalow. She is out dining with a friend, and will not be 
home before eleven ; but Mr. Gray will convey any message 
desired. " Oh, a piano ? Ju hadn't one himself, but his friend 
Mr. Brown — oh, you have been there? well it's ver>- unfor- 
tunate." So I drive off on my long homeward journey, 
reaching the hotel to find, luckily, that my father has decided 
not to sing that evening, owing to our being so fatigued with 
heat and travelling. 

Such was something of the experience we had at Benares. 
At seven o'clock next morning, an old lady drove up in a 
carriage to the hotel-door. This was Mrs. Kennedy, widow of 
General Kennedy, who had come like a succouring angel to 
offer us the use of her piano. Her kindness was most touching 
and refreshing in the midst of so much stiffness. When I re- 
turned the instrument at an equally early hour next morning, 
I found the good old soul bustling about as if she had been up 
for hours. The cantonment rang with the news about the 
piano, everyone declaring " she had never done that before to 
anybody!" 

On our way to see the sights of Benares, we pass through a 
native " bazaar," which consists of a series of small thatched 
booths lining each side of a dusty road. We are at once in the 
midst of busy Ufa Here, a " Jingling Johnnie " rattles past 
— a diminutive cart covered with a faded crimson hood, under 



'^Imperial India!" 329 

which squat three or four native passengers, drawn by a scrubby 
pony with a collar of small bells. Here, a Mussulman rides 
past on a horse whose mane is dyed pink — here, a " hackery " 
or small waggon drawn by bullocks whose hides are stencilled 
in variegated colours. Numbers of children are romping about, 
some playing at " bhag bhandi," or " caging the tiger ; " others 
flying tailless kites, the strings of which are powdered with 
glass, so that one player may cross and rasp his companion's 
line in two, and thereby win the game. Passing these, we 
come upon a native trundling a refractory' sheep by the hind 
legs ; then a group of little humped bullcx:ks embedded in ■ 
loads of hay, with nothing seen but their head in front 
and their tail wagging behind. We notice also a high- 
caste woman being carried along in a closely-draped palan- 
keen. About the street roams a Brahmin bull of great 
sanctity, and knowing it evidently, as he has an air of 
being a " most superior pairson." Around him skip secular 
goats, kids, hens, and geese. In the middle of the road 
women are gathering dung, whilst others flatten it in cakes to 
dry against the mud walls, to form fuel. "Imperial India!" 
says, with a shrug of her shoulders, a lady -friend who 
accompanies us. At a shop-door sits a group of natives, all 
sucking the bulbs of their tall-stemmed hookhas, and looking 
like a band about to play up. We see young men, tall and 
muscular ; old men, skinny and wrinkled in the hide ; women 
carrying their children cross legged on their hip. At the side 
of the road, under the thinly-foliaged trees in front of these 
shops, we see numerous " charpoys " or stretchers, with sheeted 
figures asleep in the sultry air. The natives are all clad in 
light cotton, for no matter how poor a Hindoo may be, he 
never wears any of our cast-off clothes. There is Ram Chutter, 
the oil-man, whose shop is bedecked with daubs of the gods, to 
attract orthodox customers. There is Mukhtar Khan, dealer 
in earthenware, putting up his light trellis shutters. There Is 
Pandy Doss, the blacksmith, with his three assistants, and 
primitive bellows, blowing up a flame that seems about to send 
the bamboo shop into instant blaze. Outside, a native barber 



330 Singing Round the World, 

plies his trade, clean shaving the poll of a customer, the 
operation being watched byr a iftkir with ghastly whitened 
cheek-bones, sitting on his haunches close byr. Pity if our 
shadow fall on that lank old fellow's tifllin, for assuredly he 
would pitch the polluted rice away. A group of four native 
policemen hastily get up, fall into line, and at the word 
^ Tention ! " give the military salute till we are past As we 
walk along the sidepath, men step hastily into the street, women 
^ back " into the angles of the walls, and children fly frightened 
as if the Sahib were a ^ bogey." It is things like these that 
make India worth having ! Accompanied by smells of rancid 
" ghee " or clarified butter, we pick our way through tortuous 
paths— old pits, receptacles for broken crockery, sweepings, and 
manure — past tottering houses and feeding-troughs — till we 
come to an old well Its creaking, ricketty scaffolding is over- 
shadowed by tamarinds and peepul trees ; and the village 
women, as they turn the windlass, are gossiping as only Hindoo 
women can — or Hindoo men. The bazaar is one Babel of 
babble. 

We had an exhaustive exploration of Benares, which is one 
of the oldest cities in India. It was famous 2500 years ago, 
and may have sent its gold to adorn the temples of Solomon. 
Now, Benares is a filthy, fanatical, fetish-worshipping, fakir- 
infested city — a rotten sham. We found the narrow streets, 
down which the fat elephant could scarcely pass, crowded with 
fierce bearded Mussulmen, intelligent-looking Hindoos, scented 
baboos, and handsome women. The shops on either hand 
were stocked with gold and silver brocades, cut brass and 
copper plates, toys, and costly fabrics valued as high as Rs. 900 
the square yard. One store was said to contain goods worth a 
million sterling. We walked through sloppy winding lanes, 
past towering dirty buildings, down wet flights of steps strewn 
with damp flowers and leaves — the whole neighbourhood like 
the unswept floor of a vegetable market The city is wholly 
given over to dirt and idolatry in equal proportions. There 
are 1500 ".shivalas" or shrines, half-a-million idols, and 280 
mosques. The first temple we saw was that dedicated to Shiva, 



Pilgrim-Hunters. 331 

the patron god of Benares, — a building half-crushed in a 
corner by a press of other scaly-looking shrines, and called the 
" Golden Temple," from its copper dome having been " gold- 
leafed" by the Maharajah of the Punjaub. Our "boy" was 
not allowed into the temples, he being a Mussulman ; but the 
plain fact is, there was no chance of extorting money from him. 
We, who were rank infidels, were gladly admitted, and our 
" bawbees " taken eagerly by the portly Brahmins in charge. 
It was like paying for admission to the shows at a country 
fair. In this Golden Temple is a reservoir three feet square 
and eighteen inches deep, filled with the coin of distinguished 
visitors. The aforementioned Maharajah was the only one 
who ever filled it with gold " mohurs," whilst scores have filled 
it with rupees, and hundreds with pice. As the temple 
business is a trifle overdone in Benares, and as the priests have 
a strong eye to profit, they send " pilgrim-hunters " over the 
length and breadth of the land, who urge the people to visit 
their particular shrine. There are more of these heathen 
missionaries in India, than there are Christian missionaries 
throughout the world. There are several Brahmins to every 
temple, and each has his special duty. One guards the door, 
and gives fans to the /ar^atics who wish to fan the idol ; a 
second rings the bell to call the faithful to the shrine ; a third 
places the sacred rice and sweetmeats before the idol, and 
helps himself and his followers to a large share of the dainties; 
a fourth holds up a looking-glass to the god, so that he may 
do his toilet ; a fifth sweeps out the place, an office that he 
makes a sinecure, to judge from the garbage ; a sixth beats 
the holy drum and blows the holy horn ; a seventh is treasurer; 
No. 8 washes out the vessels, and acts as religious scullery-man ; 
others prepare the idol's bed, and present him with a tooth- 
pick after meals ; while the whole lot of them are arrant pests. 
The second temple visited was that of Bhaironath, a god with 
four arms. His face is of silver, while that of the attendant 
priest is brazen. The latter worries you for " Baksheesh," to 
receive which he holds out a cocoa-nut shell. This idol is 
propitiated by liquor, and several of the devotees may be seen 



332 Singing Round the World, 

** fou " from partaking of the drink designed for Bhaironath. 
In the same shrine is Sitala, the goddess of smallpox, at whose 
feet all native gardeners worship, as they are the professional 
inoculators of India. One of the most disgusting sights was 
the Holy Cow Temple, a quadrangular building containing 
thirty cows — one of which, an ill-favoured beast, with wry 
mouth and one eye out, would insist on following us. The 
place was nothing more nor less than a religious " byre," and 
not at all relieved by the incongruity of half-a-dozen strutting 
peacocks. The cow is held in special veneration ; if a Hindoo 
kills a cow, he suffers as many years in hell as there are hairs 
on its body. We next passed the Beggar's Temple, noticeable 
by the number of beggars, the lame ones carried on other beg- 
gars* shoulders. The cry of " Baksheesh " assailed us all over 
Benares. The Brahmins at the shrine, the legless beggars in 
the gutter, all alike whined ** Baksheesh." Hateful word ! Had 
they had the faintest right or title to alms, it would not have 
been so flagrant, but the crowd had no more claim to our cop- 
pers than the rest of the 240,000,000 heathen of Hindostan. If 
you look at any man steadfastly for two or three seconds, he 
will rise slowly off his haunches and mysteriously whisper 
** Baksheesh.'* All around us were cries for " Baksheesh," peo- 
ple flocking from all directions, and one howling louder than 
another. Palms of all kinds, damp, dirty, and greasy, were 
shoved under our noses. Here, a broken-backed child of four 
years toddled and lisped " Baksheesh ; " here, a lad with para- 
lysed legs swiftly paddling himself along with his hands amid 
a cloud of dust ; here, a wretch with the stumps of both arms 
whittled off to a point like a black-lead pencil ; here, a naked 
fiikir crawling along on his stomach, and characteristically 
pushing an alms-dish before him. The air hung heavy with 
** Baksheesh." 

We had the satisfaction of peering d6wn the Well of Know- 
ledge, — a stinking, stagnant well, littered with votive flowers — 
a well at the bottom of which Truth would not have lain long 
— a well said to have been dug by Vishnu and filled with his 
perspiration Then we were conducted to the " Man Mandir," 




Monkey Temple. 333 

or Observatory of Jai Sing. Here some of the discoveries and 
calculations made by our handy modern instruments have been 
arrived at by lai^e constructions of masonry. There is a tiiural 
quadrant, a wall eleven feet high and nine feet broad, in the 
plane of the meridian, while another points to the pole-star. 
There is also a double mural quadrant, an equinoctial circle 
made of stone, and other gigantic astronomical instruments. 
It was striking to see this fane of true science in the midst of 
so much false religion. The last of the temples visited was the 
Monkey Temple, where idolatry has sunk to incredible depths. 
The little brown monkeys were jumping up and down the 
steps of the temple, some running in the open streets, 
some on the tops of walls, some leaping on the house- 
roofs. Awful mischief-workers and thieves are those little 
wretches, as the shopkeepers all round well know ! The 
temple is open-roofed and surrounded inside by a portico, 
in and around which were hundreds of monkeys, screaming, 
chattering, scampering, and carrying their young in many an 
aerial flight along pillar, cornice, and balustrade. The holy 
precincts echoed with our sacrilegious laughter I A priest gave 
us a dish of " koee," a kind of grain, which we sprinkled on the 
ground, and in an instant we were besieged by scores of 
scrambling monkeys, all ages and sizes, from the hoary 
patriarch to the orange-coloured babe in arms. There was no 
odour of sanctity about them, nor about the Brahmins, nor 
about the temple, nor any of the temples. You venerate the 
priest no more than the khitmutghar who waits at your tabla 
The grand old religion of Brahma — for it was grand — has 
degenerated into a broad farce, supported by extortion and 
carried on by delusion. 

The best view of Benares is to be had from the river. We 
got into a budgerow with a peacock prow, rowed by four boat- 
men. Before us stretched the holy city, built on a long bluff, 
eighty feet above the river — temples, mosques, and palaces 
towering on high terrace-foundations. The city-front, with its 
sky-line of rainSrs, domes, and cupolas, was very striking. A 
long succession of rajah's palaces stretched along the river- 



334 Singing Round the World. 

front, for the true believer likes to live near the Ganges, so 
that he tmy. die with his feet touching its sacred waters. On 
the banks were scores of rafts covered with immense straw- 
plaited umbrellas, under which Brahmins were sitting and 
praying for their respective patrons, much as mass is said by 
Romish priests. There were numbers of bathing-ghauts, with 
Hindoos clustering dense as bees upon their well-worn steps, 
while the broad stream was strewn with the yellow " genda ** 
flower, the favourite offiering to the goddess Gunga (the 
Ganges). A burning-ghaut, with blazing piles, consuming 
their dead, sent their smoke and smell towards us. At 
intervals we came upon the ruins of large palaces and temples, 
the foundations of which had been undermined by floods ; here, 
a boat moored to a fallen buttress ; there, a group of vultures 
roosting on a sunken terrace. The river-bank was frequently 
relieved by huge idols — human figures gaudily painted, 
recumbent, with arms stretched out, and feet towards us — the 
absurd grin on their face, and helpless foreshortened attitude, 
being irresistibly ludicrous. Our sail terminated at the mosque 
of the Emperor Arungzeb, the conquering Mussulman, who 
demolished the old temple of Vishnu, and out of its ruins built 
this edifice to celebrate the triumph of Islam over Brahminism. 
The slender twin minars of this mosque shoot up to a height 
of 170 feet, and are the culminating points of the quaint sky- 
line of Benares. The afternoon was spent by the time we had 
finished this river-panorama. High over head rose fretted 
arches, terraced roofs, and spires, their gilded points lit up by 
the setting sun. We saw our last of the city of delusion in a 
charitable and appropriate roseate illusion. 

On our way from Benares, there were scores of Cabulese 
traders in the train — tall, burly men, with pale faces, long 
elfish locks, an unventilated odour, and dressed in wide-sleeved 
jackets, ample trousers, and dark-blue turbans. Each carried 
a large pack like that of a Jew peddler. They seemed a 
shaggy horde invading the peaceful plains to return with booty 
to their northern home. A short journey of ninety miles 
(short for India) brought us to Allahabad, at seven in the 



11 



I 



Tlu Weather. 335 

evening. Here a kindly Scotch merchant met us, and 
accompanied us to the hotel. After dinner we were joined 
also by the Scottish clergyman and other gentlemen. The 
weather being remarkably cold, we gathered our chairs round 
the blazing log-fire in the dining-room, where we had an 
enjoyable ** crack " till bedtime, on various subjects. One topic, 
I remember, was the uncomfortable openness of Indian 
bungalows. The houses are of course built for hot weather- 
numerous windows, holes for ventilation everywhere, and the 
various rooms not opening into each other by doors, but simply 
draped off by curtains. This is all very well in May or June, 
when a breath of air is Elysian, but in the " cool season " you 
are afflicted in the evenings by draughts. There is no privacy 
or domestic snugness in an Indian home. Every comer of the 
bungalow seems to have a native servant lurking about it A 
gentleman told us, regretfully as I thought, that there was no 
courting in the moonlight here. All love-making transpired 
in the drawing-room, and just when you got to the important 
^'popping,*' a native servant was sure to glide in with 
"Salaam, Sahib!" 

The weather is a great topic of conversation at home, but in 
India it is even more so. During the few months of our tour, 
the thermometer as a rule marked about 120 degrees in the 
sun, 80 degrees in the shade. In that temperature the 
Australian bustles about at mid-day, while the Anglo-Indian 
shuts himself indoors. The sun of India is venomous. From 
the moment Old Sol pops his head above the distant mango- 
topes, till he sinks again into the far-off jungle, you must 
protect yourself from his rays. In the hot month of May the 
temperature is 106 degrees in the shade, while the very wind 
is 100 degrees. A merchant told me that it has registered as 
high as 106 degrees in his office, even with ^ punkah. These 
are the days when Government sits 7000 feet above sea-level, 
when the land lies quivering under the fierce rays of the sun, 
when cantonments are to all appearance striken lifeless, when 
the white man shields himself from the cruel heat behind wet 
^* cusscuss tatties " or screens, when beast and bird seek shelter, 



336 Singing Round t/te World. 

and when the poor crow, with ruffled feathers, sits ludicrously 
gasping on a fence, as if in mockery of panting man. 

One hears conflicting statements about the climate of India. 
A ruddy-faced man once said to me in ringing tones : " Ha, 
ha ! never was healthier in my life than I've been these last 
twenty years in this country." Not an hour aften\'ards a 
Scotsman remarked : " I never had a day's seeckness till I 
cam* oot here a year syne, and since then I've been doon five 
times." Another, evidently a successful man, exclaimed : " I 
like India — been twenty-five years in itl Just to think how I 
would have had to toil at home !" A man may keep' himself 
healthy in India ; but there is overmuch eating and drinking 
in the land. In the early morning there is a substantial 
'* chota hazaree." Then comes the real breakfast, with meat 
and a bottle of beer ; then tiffin about two, with more meat 
and another bottle of beer ; then dinner at seven, with wines. 
*' Och," said an Irishman, ** folks eat and drink, and drink and 
eat, till they die ; and then they write home that the climate 
has killed them !" The one anxiety of all Anglo-Indians is 
about the Liver. If they talk, it is about the Liver. If they 
ever walk, it is to " stir up the Liver." " YouVe bought a cob, 
Mr. Robinson?" "Yes, it's for my Liver." "Your wife's 
going to the Hills, Brown?" "Yes, she's Livery!" Then 
there is the other enemy. Fever. No " new arrival " in 
Calcutta is supposed to have the freedom of the city until he 
has made the acquaintance of that shaky firm, Fever and 
Ague. The fever is not very deadly, and is intermittent It 
is said that a young lady will rise at an afternoon visit and say, 
" Excuse me, but I must go home for my five o'clock fever 1" 
The debilitating effects of actual heat are very noticeable in 
the faces of Europeans in India. The men are sallow, the 
women look worn. " We exist in the hot weather and live in 
the cool," said a lady. India is no land for the fair sex. After 
a few years, the wife loses her health, and goes home with the 
children, while the husband hangs on to his Government 
appointment, to secure the pension. One or two gentlemen I 
spoke to had not seen their wives for ,six or eight years — one 



Domestic Life in India. 337 

had been separated from wife and family for sixteen years^ 
There is scarcely such a thing as domestic life in India. Even 
where there is no marked ill-health, the wife every hot season 
becomes a grass-widow at Simla, Mussoorie, or some other hill- 
station, leaving the husband to toil amid the dust and heat of 
the plains. The children are another cause of separation. 
After they are six or seven years old, they must be sent to 
England, as they suffer morally from contact with native 
servants, and physically from the climate. The Europeans in 
India should have the full sympathy of all who take a pride in 
the great dependency. 

Allahabad is the seat of the government of the North- West 
Provinces, and lies 630 miles from Calcutta. It is regarded by 
the natives as a peculiarly holy city, and stands on a point of 
land formed by the meeting of three rivers. Two of them, the 
Jumna and the Ganges, can be seen by mortal eyes ; the thirds 
which flows from heaven, is invisible. The " station " is six 
miles long — a great extent of sunny, dusty roads, densely 
lined with trees, stretching as if in endless vista, with glaring 
white bungalows standing in their three-acre compounds. The 
names of these roads are on boards nailed to the trees, and like 
those of most other stations, are called Canning Road, Clive 
Road, Havelock Road, etc. The roads of India are all paths 
of honour ! It is a strange thing to see about a thousand 
whites occupying the acreage of a Liverpool or a Glasgow. 
Allahabad is in appearance a gigantic village ; it is suburban 
from centre to circumference. In none of these up-country 
stations is there anything like a continuous street. In what 
might be called the heart of the settlement, the bungalows are 
a hundred yards apart 

Allahabad possesses one or two fine public buildings — also a 
public garden, redolent with thousands of exquisite roses. 
Here we heard the band play, late one afternoon, to a fashion- 
able gathering, the ladies dressed in fur-trimmed jackets, as the 
night chill was setting in. One Sunday we visited a Mahome- 
tan mausoleum, surrounded by a high wall, and the place 
where the Allahabad mutineers of 1857 gathered in counciL 



338 Singing Round the World. 

The windows of the building are carved stone screens. In the 
centre stands the white marble tomb, on the top of which was 
placed a flick of peacock's feathers, so that the dead man could 
brush away the flies. The dome was so acoustically tempting 
that we sang that grand psalm, " I to the hills will lift mine 
eyes," and I should not wonder if the good old defunct turned 
in his grave at the sound of those infidel strains. 

At Allahabad is a large Fort, which commands the junction 
of the rivers. It was built by Akbar in 1572, but has been 
modernised into a formidable stronghold. A private soldier 
kindly escorted us over the Fort, which is 2500 yards in cir- 
cumference. The first object of interest was an underground 
temple. We descended a few irregular steps into a dank« 
smelling subterranean passage, along which we were con- 
ducted by two natives who walked backwards carrying 
torches. They halted before the various idols, that stood 
in little niches. Our guides showed us with awe a hole 
in the wall, the entrance to a tunnel, which we were told was 
seventy-two miles long, leading to Benares, and along which a 
priest had once travelled on his hands and knees. This feat 
was abundantly proved by the fact that several of his friends 
who had spoken to him in Allahabad saw him a week after- 
wards in Benares ! Another striking object was a banyan-tree, 
said to be 1500 years old, which we saw several pilgrims kiss 
devoutly. There were devotees of all kinds here : the devotee 
who has held his arm over his head for twenty years, and 
could not get it down now if he wanted to ; the devotee who 
has clenched his fist so long that the nails have grown through 
the back of his hand ; the devotee who has kept silent for 
years, and lost the use of his tongue ; the devotee who has sat 
for forty years in one spot, and only risen for an occasional 
bathe in the Ganges. Our friend the soldier took us round the 
armoury, and presently stopped before an ancient Buddhist 
monolith, forty-two feet high, against which he seemed to have 
a special grudge. " Look *ere," said he, " folk say as this is 
two thousand year old ; now / don*t believe that, *cause I don't 
think folks was up to them sort of things so long ago." "Oh," 



Native Printers, 339 

we replied, " you forget the Egyptians in the time of Pharaoh 
— see what grand architecture they raised." " But," insisted 
he, pointing to the pillar, " this here was before Christ /" Our 
guide concluded by taking us to the battlements of the Fort, 
where we had a sweeping view of the confluence of the rivers. 
During January and February there are great "melas" or fairs 
held here, when thousands of natives assemble from all parts 
of the country. The first thing a pilgrim does is to get his 
head shaved on the river bank, as he knows he will get a 
million years in heaven for every hair that falls into the Ganges. 
It is a characteristic fact that numbers of Hindoos make a 
living by catching the floating hair and selling it ! 

More than once I had occasion to visit a printing-office in 
Allahabad. It was a sample of most of those up-country — a 
detached bungalow, in the open porch of which, and even in 
the open air, native compositors, were working, whilst others 
were squatting and sorting out type on the front steps. Talk- 
ing with the manager, a European, he said : — " Look at that 
native there, with the mutton-chop whiskers and moustache ; 
he's getting three rupees a-month, — my Hindoo forenian gets 
fifteen rupees." I wondered why a " khitmutghar," or waiter, 
received twelve rupees a-month, while the compositor's wage 
was five or six. The fact is, the " khit " is every man's dog, 
while most of these Hindoo printers are well-educated, and 
desirous of picking up some gentlemanly, useful trade. " They 
are awfully independent," said the manager ; " if I blow up a 
man for being slow, he just picks up his cap and hooks it." 

We sang four nights in the Railway Theatre here — a com- 
modious building. India requires to be " worked " differently 
from any country we have ever been in. For instance, we 
were told it was customary to leave tickets for sale at the 
cantonments. Acting on the advice, I got inside the inevit- 
able gharry, and drove off to the military lines, down the sultry 
glades that take the place of streets. After some miles, we 
reach a rose-encircled bungalow, out of which a bluff major 
appears. This cottage turns out to be the officers* mess. I 
am recommended to take the tickets to the colour-sergeants of 



340 Singing Round the World. 

the various companies. Off again, along the straight white 
roads. When I get amongst the barracks, I ask for the 
sergeant-major, who gives me four or five names to call on. 
Sergeant O'Flaherty is the first **0h, he went to his 
bungalow a minute ago." I drive there and find that, taking 
advantage of the cool day, he is out playing cricket opposite 
the artillery quarters. A long ride in the gharry brings me to 
the game, but OTlaherty has gone to the orderly-room. I 
determine to see him later, and drop in on Sergeant Macpher- 
son, leaving him a package of tickets. I am not so fortunate 
with Sergeant Blazer, for he is away at the parade-ground 
with Sergeant Thomson. Though it is a long round-about, I 
go to the maidan, finding Sergeant Thomson, who tells me 
that " Blazer*s gone to the canteen." I follow him up, though 
I find I am gradually drifting further from OTlaherty. At 
length I catch sight of Sergeant Blazer. ** Yes, Blazer's my 
name," says he, " but Fm not colour-sergeant now — it's 
Scroggins — youll easily find him at Company B's quarters." I 
get there and ask a private soldier for Colour-sergeant Scroggins. 
" Scroggins ? he ain*t colour-sergeant — you've made a mistake 
— Blazer's your man." " Oh no, Scroggins is colour-sergeant 
now." '* Well, it's only since this mornin*, then ; " and growling 
as if under a grievance, he leads the way to Scroggins, who is 
deep in some commissariat papers. I give him tickets, and 
start for O'Flaherty ; but he has left the orderly-room and will 
most probably be found at the mess-room. Says one of the 
men : " D'ye twig that buildin* *igher than all the others as you 
sec — well it's the far end of that — yer can't miss it" When I 
get there I ask half-a-dozen men, but none of them ever "'eerd 
tell on him before." He didn't belong to tlieir company — 
perhaps it was Company D. I accost a passing soldier, who 
kindly walks over with me to another large building, where in 
the reading-room, I find the long lost OTlaherty. I have a 
short chat with him, and then ask to be directed to the last of 
my list, Sergeant Jenkins. " Jenkins ! " he cries ; " why, that 
was Jenkins that brought you here!" Instantly I shout for 
^u^ „harry, which has cast anchor two hundred yards off. I 



Jubbulpore, 341 

pursue Jenkins, determined to capture him before he is lost in 
this brain-wearing maze, and it is with a deep sigh of relief 
that I hand him the last package of tickets. 

Equally exhausting was the collection of the money two 
days afterwards. The last I called on was Sergeant Scroggins, 
who had eight annas of his ticket-sale to gather in. He asked 
me to call with him upon one of the officers, whom we found in 
all his dignity amongst a mass of blue documents. " Eight annas 
wanted? "said he; "well, Mr. Kennedy, just be seated for a 
moment" Taking out a large sheet of foolscap, he wrote a 
despatch, which he handed to a " chuprassie." The native 
went off, and after being absent for a full quarter of an hour at 
some remote part of the lines, returned with a handful of 
coppers. " Ah," said the officer, " here are the eight annas — 
you*ll find it all right, I think sixteen pice T Anglo- 
Indians hate coppers as they hate heat, but the weight added 
to my pocket was less than the load of trouble off my mind ! 

A journey of ten hours, and we were at Jubbulpore, a pretty 
station. The drive to the hotel was enlivened by delightful 
flowers and foliage. The raging red leaves of the Mexican 
plant contrasted with the sedate blue bells of the convolvulus. 
Marigolds, too, and white jessamine, and the nodding heads of 
roses ; while over all were the soaring plumes of the bamboo 
and the graceful feathery palm. Then Jackson's Hotel burst 
into view, built in shape of a wedding-cake, a hovel design that 
I recommend to projectors of honeymoon hotels ! The native 
city of Jubbulpore was the finest we had seen — broad, open 
streets, across which were thrown fretted Saracenic arches, 
flanked by red-painted mosques. The " Mohurrum " Festival 
was being held, and the gaily-dressed populace were greatly 
exercised over it In the open street we saw naked lads 
being painted green from head to feet, with red spots, their 
faces daubed into hideous masks, and a tail tied on, to fit them 
out as tigers, in which character they were led by a chain 
through the city to the sound of cymbal and tom-tom. Others 
were having their heads covered with gold-leaf, and their 
bodies tricked out in silver brocade. Wooden shrines, gay in 



342 



Singing Round the World. 



paint and tinsel, stood by the roadside, whilst the monotonous 
drum called on the faithful to " walk up, walk up." It is a 
hybrid Mohammedanism that obtains in India, being largely 
modified by contact with BrahminisnL Amongst the sights of 
Jubbulpore is the School of Industry, where are domiciled 
numbers of Thugs, that murderous caste. ''Thuggee" has 
been abolished many years now, and its votaries are here 
employed weaving carpets. The " Marble Rocks," distant ten 
miles from Jubbulpore, are also well worth seeing — ^the 
valuable white precipices rising to a great height on either side 
of a rushing river. 



Bombay. 345 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

Bombay — A Parsce Bill-Postcr — A Marriage Procession — The Caves of Elephanta;^ 
— ^Tbe Residency and Palaces of Lucknow— Cawnpore — An enthusiastic Guide. 

It was Christmas day when we arrived at Bombay. The 
streets were lively with tramway-cars crowded with Parsees^ 
and drawn by horses whose heads were protected from the sun 
by white helmets ; broughams also, and " ekkas " or native 
gigs, drawn by little grey "Arabs." Here were some hundreds 
of buffaloes being washed by natives at a large well in a 
reserve ; at a large tank, scores of " dhobies " scrubbing and 
thumping linen ; at another, fifty or sixty men and women 
performing their ablutions. Now a cavalcade of splendidly 
mounted native horsemen would ride past ; now a regiment of 
Sepoys, in red coats and black trousers, and beneath the little 
round caps the same grim brown faces that once burned with 
wild mutiny. We lived at Watson's Hotel, a five-storied 
building which faced the Esplanade and the Bay, the sea- 
breezes blowing gratefully into the bedrooms. In the street 
below were native jugglers, musicians, snake-charmers, ventri- 
loquists, and mimics, performing to the guests who gathered in 
the verandah. 

Native life is more picturesque here than in Calcutta, Bom- 
bay seeming to be a microcosm of all the Indian peoples. 
There are the Mahrattas, with their immense turbans in a 
succession of rings, out of which springs a kind of horn. You 
see also Persian Arabs, in their dark-brown hooded cloaks ; 
white-robed Armenians ; Hindoos of all castes, with great 
latitude in the longitude of the women's raiment Lastly,. 
Parsees, the great feature of Bombay. 

The Parsees have had a strange history. In the year 651 
the Arab Mahometans invaded Persia, and drove the original^ 
Persians to the mountains. Many of these, who would not ab- 



344 ^if^gi^g Round the World. 

Jure their faith in Zoroaster and embrace the Koran, emigrated 
and set up their fire-temples in Western India. There are 
45,000 Parsees in Bombay, and to our eyes the Parsees seemed 
aliens in the land, so superior are they to the generality of the 
natives. They have been called the Saxons of India, and there 
is a perceptible push in the people. More than half of them 
^re merchants. They are as suave and voluble as Frenchmen, 
and as sharp as Jews. They are a highly moral people, and 
their women are not kept in the seclusion and degradation of 
Hindoo females. Female Parsees may be seen walking 
■about the streets — fair-faced women, in lustrous mantles of 
pink, green, yellow, and purple silk or satin. There are 
numerous fire-temples throughout the city. A Parsee in- 
formed me that his people did not worship the fire as an idol, 
but as a symbol of the one true God. They adored the sun 
also as a perfect fire, but they were pure theists. The Parsees 
bury their dead in the "Towers of Silence," large stone 
structures open to the heavens and erected on an eminence. 
Inside these the bodies are placed on a grating, to be the prey 
of vultures, the bones gradually falling through to the bottom 
of the tower. 

I engaged the services of a Parsee bill-sticker, who took 
tickets at the hall-door, and did such odd jobs as interpreting 
in the bazaars when I had deg,lings with natives. He was 
very gentlemanly, with skin no darker than a Southern 
Italian's ; had mutton-chop whiskers, and two curls hanging on 
€ach side of his head ; wore a clerical frock-coat, light trousers, 
patent boots, and the peculiar skuttle-shaped hat of the Parsee; 
and boasted spectacles and a white umbrella. How immea- 
surably superior to the rough, whisky-breathing bill-sticker, 
sometimes met with in Old England ! As he spoke English 
fluently, I gave him one day a number of circulars to address, 
but he took ten minutes to do six, so I finished the job myself, 
and set him to work sticking on the stamps. The word that 
had ** floored" him was " Mackechnie." Macaulay he had 
spelt "Mauclay," and Macdonald came out three times as 
*' Macdoland." Scotch names are a shibboleth to the native 



^^ Muckintoasty 345 

population generally, and more particularly to the Hindoos. 
All Scotsmen, whether their names be Mackenzie, Macallister, 
or any other Mac, are invariably called " Muckintoast," doubt- 
less because the first Scotsman in India may have been named 
Macintosh ! We also knew of one unfortunate gentleman, a 
Mr. Domville, whom the natives always called by the better- 
known English name of " Darpfool Sahib." 

We gave our entertainments in the Framjee Cowasjee 
Institute, a Parsee philosophical, scientific, and literary institu- 
tion. There are heavy lectures given in the hall, and in the 
library you find a collection of books containing too solid 
reading for an average European. We had several Parsees 
amongst our audiences — at one time, a spectacled Parsee editor 
— and it was amusing to see their faces brightening up at some 
recondite Scottish joke. Two of our ticket-takers were 
Goanese, or Christian natives from the old Portuguese settle- 
ment of Goa, further down the coast. The hall being on the 
verge of the teeming native city, our entertainment was inter- 
spersed with the cries of the vendors in the bazaars. Every 
night, in a lodging-house adjoining, a large company of 
Christian natives sang hymns lustily ; but once their service of 
praise was marred by a number of Parsee women chanting a 
wild minor air in the room below. We sang a fortnight in 
this Parsee hall, concluding the series by a ** bumper *' house in 
the large Town Hall. Our advertisement was inserted in a 
Parsee paper. The fire-worshippers are well represented in 
the press — they having four or five journals, and also a Parsee 
Punch, We found that the motto of our advertisement, ** Twa 
Hours at Hame,*' had been translated " Two Hours of Leisure 
in the City of Bombay." It was also stated that " Mr. Kennedy 
has a very great amount of talent for the Scottish Songs," 
while the words " pianoforte duet " were rendered : " Both the 
Misses Kennedy will sit at the piano at once." 

We were taken by some friends to see the Scottish Orphan- 
age at Mahim, some miles out ** in the jungle," as they called 
it. On the way we passed through the native city, which was 
gay with a marriage procession. There were horses capari- 

X 



Singing Round the World. 




soned in silver cloth, on one of which sat the bridegroom 
seven years old ; children loaded with jewellery ; women clad 
in rich fabrics of lilac, pink, green, and orange. It seemed like 
some grand theatrical spectacle turned out to the light of day. 
Thousands upon thousands of brilliantly attired natives filled 
the streets, which latter were composed of houses painted in 
flaming red and yellow colours that added to the gaudiness of 
the ijicture. We emerged from this chromatic fever, and 
presently were bowling into a cool, delightful bit of jungle^ 
The fans of the cocoa-nut trees dropped over from every side, 
flecking the road with ornamental shadows, and forming a 
continuous bower. Now and again a yellow cottage or a 
vermilion bungalow, the home of some rich Hindoo, would 
biaze out amid the tender green of the jungle. At the 
Orphanage we were received most hospitably. After tiffin — 
one of the items of which was a seed-cake from Montrose — wc 
had a pleasant talk with the superintendent and his good lady, 
who hail from Aberdeen. We have noticed that the North of 
Scotland has sent forth a large number of earnest philan- 
thropical workers to foreign parts. 

Another day we sailed ten miles up the harbour to the 



Caves of Elephanta, 347 

island of Elephanta, famous for its caves. On landing, we 
climbed a long flight of steps leading up the face of a hill, and 
reached the caves, which are hewn out of the solid rock. These 
rocky halls, with their massive pillars and carved figures, 
seemed not unlike a low-roofed subterranean cathedral. In the 
dim twilight of these caves the faces of the gods looked down 
on us, stony, calm, majestic in their repose. One group was 
that of the Hindoo Trinity, or Triad as it should be more 
correctly called — Brahma, Shiva, and Vishnu — said to be the 
grandest realisations of Godhead ever carved by man. But 
the figures in these temples are sadly mutilated, not being kept 
in anything like preservation. Returning, the steam-launch 
was discovered to be aground. For half-an-hour all the 
visitors, assisted by twenty coolies, heeled the large vessel from 
side to side, but without effect A passing cutter was hailed, 
and despatched to Bombay for another steamer. Assistance 
did not arrive till six o'clock that night, which was all the more 
annoying as we were due to dinner at a Scottish clergyman's 
house at 7.30. Bombay was reached at 8.30, and ignoring 
prandial raiment, we drove straight to our host, who did not 
take our involuntary discourtesy amiss. 

We travelled back again from Bombay to Jubbulpore, gave 
another concert there, and about two days afterwards arrived 
at Lucknow, where a friend took us a thorough round of sight- 
seeing. Apart from its being the scene of so many picturesque 
episodes during the Mutiny, Lucknow possesses deep interest 
from its splendid architecture. You drive along broad, sweep- 
ing roads — palaces, mosques, gardens, and parks meeting the 
eye at every turn. We bowled along the " Hazrat Gunj," or 
Road of Honour, down which we could see in imagination the 
*' kilties " marching to the famous " Relief." On our left rose 
the Chutter Munzil Palace, a cream-coloured building with 
chocolate windows — formerly a seraglio, and now a club and 
reading-room, with a fine hall, in which we gave our concerts. 
To the right flowed the River Goomtee, on which Lucknow is 
situated, and over which Havelock crossed with his 
Highlanders. On both sides of this stream spread ample 



348 Singing Round the World. 

views — expanses of green sward, extensive parks, and wooded 
slopes — while away in the distance, as if embowered in a dense 
forest of trees, rose domes, minarets, cupolas, and gilded spires. 
In the midst of all these fair surroundings, like a spectre at a 
feast, stood the gaunt, blackened ruins of the Residency. It 




is situated on a slight eminence, and has been left in the same 
state as after the Relief. Originally a three-storied building, it 
has been wrecked into the appearance of an old tower. It is 
rotten with shot-marks. Five months of bitter siege, 
explosions, shells, and the contents of thousands of rebel guns, 
have left their indelible marks on the ill-fated building. We 
saw the portico which fell and killed so many of our soldiers, 
its ruins now draped in a cloud of yellow and purple blooms, 
haunted by bright green parrots. We peeped down into the 
cellar where the women and children sought shelter from that 



The Imaumbarra. 349 

storm of shot and shell, and where so many died. We visited 
the well-kept graveyard adjoining, where lie Sir Henry 
Lawrence, Niell, Banks, and hundreds of our troops killed in 
the battle of Lucknow. Not far off was the ever-famous 
" Baillie Gate," where " Bob Aitken," with his handful of brave 
faithful Sepoys, did such wonderful deeds of heroism. This 
was the gate where the rescuing Highlanders charged, and 
where the loyal natives, rushing out to welcome them, were 
fired into by mistake for the enemy. One can vividly see the 
tearing-down of the sand-bags, the waving plumes rushing in 
through the gateway, and the wild tearful welcome of the band 
of brave hearts — the Highlanders seizing the long-imprisoned 
ladies, and giving Vent to their emotion by a hearty reel on 
the shell-strewn sward. Alas, there were no bagpipes ! 
** Jessie Brown," fabled dreamer, had she ever existed, would 
have heard no pibroch strains along the softly-swelling knolls 
of the Goomtee. 

The next point visited was the Imaumbarra, the architectural 
glory of Lucknow. With few exceptions the buildings are of 
plaster and brick, but one forgets this in their apparent 
grandeur. The Imaumbarra, however, is of solid stone. I do 
not remember any building in Paris that approaches it 
in its sweep and majesty. It is a Mahometan temple, 
raised by Nawab Asaf-uddaulah at an incredible expense. 
The architects who competed were told that the building was 
to be a copy of no other, and to surpass anything of the 
same kind ever built The domes, the fretted archways, 
the immense court, the great Constantinople Gate, that 
in its colossal dimensy^ns sinks the Marble Arch of 
London to a common villa gate, stamp themselves for ever on 
the memory. It is a glorious outburst of architecture. The 
grand hall of this Imaumbarra is 170 feet long, fifty-three feet 
wide, fifty feet high, has walls sixteen feet thick, and not a 
pillar in its entire length.. This is one of the largest un- 
supported roofs in the world, its only rival being that of a 
chamber in the Kremlin of Moscow. This splendid apartment 
is now, in pursuance of British utilitarianism, used as an 



3 so 



Singing Round the World. 



arsenal, and packed with cannon. One may pardon this, but 
not the brutal taste which has plastered in black tar-paint, 
huge figures — 31, 32, and so on — right over each of the palatial 
entrances, in the centre of the coat of arms of the Royal 
Family of Oude. From the summit of the Imaumbarra we 
had a comprehensive view of the city — a vision of palaces, 
mausoleums, and mosques floating in foliage. Immediately 
below us we saw more vandalism in the shape of a tennis-court 
drawn out on the flat roof of a mosque. 

Proceeding on our journey, we passed the notorious Dowlat 
Khanna, the police-station where the great rebellion of Oude 
was inaugurated. Then came into view the Hosseinabad, 




Musa Bagh. 351 

which if not the grandest, is at anyrate the most charming 
building in Lucknow — a combination of mausoleum and 
mosque. Entering by a lofty and ornate arch, we found our- 
selves in a beautiful courtyard. In the centre was a long tank 
glittering with gold fish, lined with bright green shrubs, and 
surrounded by gleaming statues. Richly plumed cranes, with 
long pink bills, were stalking about, while purple peacocks dis- 
played their gaudy tails on the shining marble terraces. On 
both hands rose alabasterlike mosques, their minarets pointed 
with gold, and at the head of the courtyard stood the swelling 
white dome of the tomb. Over all this the blazing sun shone 
with wondrous eflFect, for in India its rays act as the lime-light 
in the theatre, intensifying beauties and hiding defects. On 
closer inspection you find the buildings of this Hosseinabad 
thickly studded with iron hooks, like cloves in a ham, on which 
are hung innumerable little lamps at festival times. The 
Mahometans are clever at illuminations, and the reflection of 
these lights is seen for miles. 

We visited the Musa Bagh, where formerly wild beast fights 
took place ; then drove to the historical Secunder Bagh, a large 
walled garden, where 2000 of the mutineers were attacked by 
the 93d Highlanders and 53d Foot, and slaughtered to a man 
— a terrible scene, at which a piper lustily performed till two 
bullets burst the wind bag ! The next scene of interest was 
the Kaiser Bagh, the palace of the late King of Oude, which 
was sacked during the Rebellion. Here took place an almost 
unparalleled looting. In fancy we hear the cannon blowing in 
the massive gates, and the rush of the soldiery into the gilded 
halls. We see the smashing of mirrors with bayonets, the 
tearing down of massive chandeliers, the ransacking of jewel- 
chests, the heaped-up bonfires of purple curtains, gold frames, 
and rich furniture. We hear the shouts of vengeance and the 
cries for mercy, the heart's blood of both foes streaming by the 
white statues round the glittering fountains of the courts. The 
echoes seem never to have died away. Kaiser Bagh is 
generally supposed to mean " Caesar's Garden," but a learned 
professor told us it signifies " yellow garden," from the colour 



352 Singing Round the World, 

of the surrounding buildings. The immensity of the Kaiser 
Bagh is most striking. If Lucknow could be called the Paris 
of India, the Kaiser Bagh would certainly be a worthy 
Versailles. 

Passing through the tasteful Wingfield Park, which was one 
riotous profusion of roses, we reached that most fantastic of 
buildings, the Martinifere. This edifice was erected eighty years 
ago by Claude Martin, an eccentric Frenchman, who came to 
India a private soldier, and ended his career as a Major- 
General with several hundred thousand pounds. He intended 
to present this palace to a prince of Oude, but died before it 
was completed, and ordered his body to be buried in it to 
prevent confiscation of the building. During the rebellion, 
however, the Sepoys burst open the tomb and made away with 
his bones. We were shown the vault in which he was interred^ 
and which being also used as a cellar for ale-casks, gave rise ta 
the grim joke of " Claude Martin and his * beer* " The build- 
ing is the freak of a madman, a most strange and extravagant 
structure, combining all styles of architecture, and ornamented 
with statues of females, mandarins, all the gods and goddesses, 
and lions whose eyes at night are lighted with lamps. The 
Martiniere was a great stronghold of the rebels, and it 
was long before they were dislodged. * But where that 
desperate fighting took place there are at present cool dormi- 
tories for scholars. The Martiniere is now a college. Luck- 
now is truly a city of palaces, though most of the latter have 
been transformed into hotels, clubs, and offices. We lived in 
one palace, posted our letters in another, and gave our concerts 
in a third, the aforementioned Chutter Munzil. The night of 
the last performance there was an adjoining portion of the hall 
curtained off as a dining-room, where a number of the bachelors 
of the station had invited a party of ladies to dinner. After 
the concert commenced, they rose from their wine and 
adjourned in a body to the hall. The hotel we lived at was a 
palace of the King of Oudc's commander-in-chief, and had a 
dining-room thirty-two feet high. 

A railway journey of forty-six miles brought us to Cawnpore. 



Cawnpore, 353 

The British cantonments are eight and a half miles long, a 
wearisome extent of dusty roads. As one sometimes sees a 
fair spot that might form a paradise, so Cawnpore forcibly 
suggests a purgator>\ An air of gloom pervades the place. It 
IS flat, sandy, and desolate. When we were there, a strong 
wind was blowing dismal clouds of dust across the bleak land- 
scape. In company with a worthy Cawnpore man, who had 
been with the avenging army that burst into the city after the 
atrocities, we made the round of the places of interest Our 
friend looked upon the visit of all strangers as a holy pilgrim- 
age. The deeds of horror had burned themselves into his 
brain, and he waxed eloquent over the incidents of the Defence 
and the Massacre, though perhaps frequent repetition had 
produced something of extravagance and exaggeration in his 
narrative. He was stout and middle-aged, with florid face 
and long shaggy hair — a regular lion of a man. As we drove 
through the dust of the cantonment he told us the story of 
Cawnpore. 

Nana Sahib, a Mahratta from the Bombay Presidency, was 
adopted by the Rajah of Bithoor, then in receipt of a hereditary 
pension from our Government. On his death we refused to 
allow the Nana anything, as he was not the real son of the 
Rajah, whereas it fs a part of Hindoo belief that an adopted 
son is a son, and inherits all his foster-father's property. Nana 
Sahib had therefore a real grievance. He made many repre- 
sentations to the Home Government, but all to no purpose. 
Still the Nana kept up the semblance of friendship to an extent 
almost incredible when looked upon by the light of after 
events. He joined in the conviviality of station-life, was a 
special favourite with the ladies, invited the principal residents 
to champagne suppers and balls, and was generally regarded 
as a staunch friend of the British. Then the native troops 
revolted, and leaving their officers unharmed, were marching 
with mistaken patriotism to instate their king at Delhi, when 
they were met by the Nana, and bribed to attack old Colonel 
Wheeler in the entrenchments he had hastily raised at 
Cawnpore. 



354 Singing Round the World. 

Our friend had got thus far with his narrative when we left 
the vehicle and walked across the open space held by the 
garrison — the worst position for defence that could possibly be 
imagined. We saw the well whence the beleaguered trpops 
drew water, under a shower of bullets ; also that other well, 
where every night, under equally deadly fire, they buried their 
•dead. " Yes," cried our friend, " this is the spot where that 
devil with his thousands of followers hemmed in the English 
for three mortal weeks, popping at them from round comers, 
and behind stone walls, the cowardly beggars that they were ! 
— rolling up big bales of cotton to a few yards of the trenches, 
and shooting at our men from behind that, too! Oh, the 
sufferings of our troops, and the poor women and children 
dying of cholera and fever ; and then to think of the niggers 
setting fire to the buildings where the sick were, and all our 
folks living under shot and shell every hour of the day — oh, it 
makes me wild ! '* And his ruddy face flushed deeper, and his 
leonine locks shook with righteous indignation. 

" Our troops," continued our guide, " held out bravely till 

that double-dyed traitor, the Nana No, I never call him 

Nana Sahib — that's too dignified a title — I might call him 
Nana the * Soor,' or pig, as his own townsfolk did. Well, this 
beast, he sent a message to old Wheeler, • saying that if he 
surrendered, he and all his folks would get a safe passage to 
Allahabad. This was very tempting, you know, so they soon 
made a hole in their little mud wall — why, just at the very 
place you're standing on now — and in poured all the Nana's 
men, as if to escort our poor people off" to the boats. This is 
the way they went, down here." We drove along the route 
taken by the betrayed garrison, several of the trees by the 
wayside still showing large gnarls where cannon-shot had 
" blazed " them. 

We reached the Suttee Chowra Ghaut, where the first 
massacre took place. It is scarcely possible to realise a more 
cheerless, miserable prospect than that which met our eyes. 
We walked to the river-side amongst wind-blown sand-dunes 
covered with sickly shrubs ! On a slope to our left skulked a 



A Tale of tlie Massacre. 355 

jackal, a dusty vagabondish kind of beast, that gave us a 
wicked furtive look as he crawled into a hole. Across the 
muddy Ganges was low, jungly country, at times completely 
hidden by the driving drifts of sand. Were there no melan- 
choly associations clinging to the spot, one would still have the 
feeling of impending calamity. "Look," said the friendly 
Lion, " here is the place where the Nana brought the people. 
Some were put into the boats, and some were not They were 
mostly women and children that he kept back. They went down 
those stepshere,see ; they're almost covered up with the mud now. 
Well, they were no sooner in the boats than the native rowers 
set fire to the thatch of the budgerows and jumped ashore. 
Then the black devils on the ghaut commenced firing at the 
boats. You see this little Hindoo temple we're standing 
beside? Well, the Nana had cannon hidden here, too, and 
they were let fly at the poor wretches. More of the Sepoys 
shot at them from the jungle here, and some from the other 
side of the river, and all in the boats were drowned, shot, or 
burned, only two living to tell the tale. Isn't that enough to 
make the blood boil, eh ? But there's worse to hear yet — come 
along." Presently we were crossing a bridge, alongside of 
which a native was praying (as he prayed every day) that some 
white man might fall through. " Down this road," said our 
guide, " the fiend the Nana brought the helpless party of 
survivors, and crowded them into a building that's taken down 
now — that's the place where they were all killed, you know. 
When the Nana heard that the British were coming, he 
ordered two hundred of his men to fire in at the windows of 
this house, and shoot every soul there. Yes, sir ; but the 
Sepoys were not so great wretches as their master, for they 
fired over the women's heads. After four hours there was 
scarcely any one killed, so the Nana was disgusted, and 
ordered fifty of his horse-soldiers to ride into the bazaars and 
get the lowest caste of natives to do the job. They were 
butchers by trade, and went in with their knives and hatchets. 
One fellow came out three times for a fresh knife. Look here, 
my friends ; from five in the evening till half-past ten that 



356 Singing Round the World. 

nighty the bloody^work was going on, while the women were 
screaming and praying, and babies were crying, and then the 
dead and^the'dying were flung in one heap into the well close 
at hand. When we marched into Cawnpore and saw the 
fearful sight, there*wasn't a dry eye in the camp, nor any man 
in his senses. We were all mad, sir, that night — mad for 
revenge. Every prisoner that was caught, we dragged the 
devil to the massacre house, and there, sirs, we made him 

• 

Thejplace where the foul deed transpired is now about the 
only lovely spot in Cawnpore. The Memorial Garden, as it is 
called, is a large enclosed piece of ground, beautifully laid out 
with shrubbery and plots of flowers. Here a simple white 
cross marks the site of the house of massacre. The well is now 
covered in by a very graceful memorial — a circular stone 
platform, on which stands the marble statue of an angel, 
beautifully designed by Baron Marochetti. On the pediment 
is placed the following inscription : — ** Sacred to the perpetual 
memory of a great company of Christian people, chiefly 
women and children, who near this spot were cruelly 
massacred by the followers of the Rebel Nana, and cast, the 
dying with the dead, into the Well below, on the 1 5th day of 
July, MDCCCLVII." The figure is surrounded by an 
octagonal Gothic screen, of chaste and beautiful workmanship. 
No one can enter this hallowed enclosure without feeling the 
eyes dew with profoundest pity for the sufferers in that 
wretched fate. Cawnpore has been fitly named " a memory of 
fruitless valour and unutterable woe." Round the Memorial 
Well are the grass-grown graves of those who fell during the 
battles of Cawnpore. Distant about a stone's throw is the 
Station Theatre, where we sang. During the mutiny it was 
occupied and loop-holed by the rebels, and is the same build- 
ing in which the Nana had often sat, applauding the amateur 
theatricals of the resident garrison. We could picture his cruel 
smiling face all through our entertainment Verily, we supped 
full of horrors during our stay here. What a contrast between 
green, palatial Lucknow and sandy, sad Cawnpore ! 



^^^«- 357 



CHAPTER XXV. 

Agra— The Fort of Akbar— The Pearl Mosque— The Taj— Humours of Concert- 
giving in India— Delhi — Lahore— A picnic at Shalimar — The daily Life of our 
Boy — Meerut — Back to Calcutta — Farewell to India. 

Agra, i 59 miles north of Cawnpore, was the next city visited. 
It is the chief architectural glory of India. One feels inclined 
to thank the invading Mussulmen, who came like a strong 
breeze into the still, slumberous life of Hindooism. The 
Mahometans have given architecture to India. Agra is full of 
grand edifices, several of which lie in the great Fort of Akbar. 
This is an immense structure, a mile and a-half in circumfer- 
ence, overhanging the river, with lofty walls of red sandstone 
towering like precipices of masonry, the embattled heights 
being relieved at intervals by turrets. We drove into the Fort 
by the Delhi Gate, a giant entrance-way, purely Saracenic, and 
flanked by enormous towers. A long paved way led to a 
spacious court, surrounded by arcades, and formerly a carousal 
or tilt-yard. We passed along corridors lined with marble, 
that more resembled ivory carving than stonework. Most of 
the buildings had a coolness as of a cave. The walls were of 
great thickness, and heat was resisted by their massiveness. 
These apartments and pavilions formed part of the Monarch's 
Palace, and extended round a central court, in which used to 
be the fountains and grape-garden of Akbar. Another court- 
yard was paved with black and white squares of marble, so as 
to form a chess-board — the game being played by Akbar and 
his wives, while the "pieces" were girls who trotted from 
square to square according to the various moves ! Near here 
was the Shish Mahal, or Palace of Glass, a series of baths, the 
roof and walls of which were starry with thousands of little 
mirrors. As our guide waved a torch over his head, the light 
was reflected from a myriad points — an effect at once novel 



358 Singing Round tJie World. 

and beautiful. These baths are now dry. Formerly the water 
fell into a marble pool, the cascade being lighted from behind 
by lamps, while the fountains in the centre were also illumin- 
ated from within. Streams poured from each side over marble 
channels carved so that the current produced the eflTect of 
swimming fish. Near here are strange underground passages, 
along which the ladies of the Zenana played at hide-and-seek, 
splashing through fountains, shouting and laughing, clad only 
in Paradisaic costume ! At the end of one of these passages is 
a deep well, to which unfaithful wives used to be committed ; 
but a short time ago, two private soldiers fell into the hole, so 
it has been summarily bricked up. We next visited the 
Dewan-i-khas, or Audience Hall, a terrace on which stands a 
throne composed of a black marble slab six feet square. This 
stone is cracked, as our guide told us, by its having been 
sat upon by the Rajah of Bhurtpore, a Hindoo, at which 
time blood also gushed forth. Renewed fracture and bleed- 
ing took place on another occasion when Lord Ellen- 
borough rested on it. Our guide, a most intelligent 
man, and a thorough master of English, believed the story 
absolutely, and showed us the two blood-stains in proof. We 
all seated ourselves on the slab, but it showed no signs of dis- 
integration, its heart having no doubt been completely broken 
already at so much contact with infidels. Retracing our steps, 
we arrived at the Moti Musjid, or Pearl Mosque. A massive 
door was flung open, and we found ourselves in the courtyard. 
The outside wall being of warm red sandstone, the effect is 
wonderful, and not anticipated, when you enter upon a dazzling 
white pavement, surrounded by white pillars, and are con- 
fronted by a white mosque with three shining marble domes — 
the white effect being heightened by the delightful blue of the 
open heavens. The prevailing idea of the Pearl Mosque is 
that of saintly purity. 

The most remarkable building in Agra is the Taj, or tomb 
built in 1630 by Shah Jehan to his queen Mumt&z. There is 
nothing in India, nothing in the worid, like it; One day we 
drove to see the Taj, which stands by the river Jumna, about 



The Taj, 359 

a mile and a-half from the city. We alighted at the principal 
gate, which is built of red sandstone, elaborately carved, and 
crowned with twenty-six marble cupolas. Passing underneath,. 
we reached a paved avenue 1200 feet long, with a raised 
fountain-terrace half-way down, and a series of jets d'eau 
stretching from end to end. We stood in a thrill of delight as 
we gazed at the scene before us. At the extremity of the 
avenue of dark cypress trees rose the gleaming white walls of 
a marble edifice, surmounted by a dome of exquisite propor- 
tion — the most ethereal stru<;ture ever reared by mortal hands. 
It stands on a platform of red sandstone, at each corner of 
which is a tower bearing a marble kiosk. Two mosques occupy 
the east and west sides, one used for prayers, and the other 
a "jawab," or "answer," so as not to disturb the symmetry. 
On this platform stands another of white marble, in the centre 
of which rises the Taj. At each corner of this marble terrace 
is a graceful min&r, 150 feet in height The walls of the 
edifice are seventy feet high, and above them swells up the 
unique dome, flanked by four small cupolas. It does not 
spring sharply from the roof, but has a cincture as elegant 
as the zone round the waist of a Hebe, from which the 
curves of the dome grow gently outwards and upwards. 
It is bulb-shaped, and seems as if about to float away into 
the azure, so light and delicate its form. The whole of the 
beautiful pile is of polished marble. Though so large, it is 
covered with ornaments designed in various coloured marble. 
Over the noble entrances and windows are long texts 
from the Koran, inlaid in black marble — a piece of ingenuity 
that at a short distance gives the idea of the white building 
being perforated, and thus adding to the lightness of the struc- 
ture. Another effective artifice consists in the gateway being 
of dark red sandstone, after gazing at which your eye turns 
with renewed freshness to the contrasting whiteness of the Taj. 
Going inside, we were in a twilight beneath a lofty dome, which 
possesses marvellous resonance. Ordinary conversation is re-^ 
produced higbiup in the dim vault as mimic thunder. A vocal 
note soars overhead in a sound like the long drawn note of a 



360 Singing Round the World. 

violin, so clear and prolonged is it, and dies away in a diminu- 
endo so gradual as to form an invaluable lesson to a vocalist 
You cannot tell when the vibrations cease — they seem to dim- 
inish to an audible silence. We sang one full chord, and it 
hovered in the dome in sweetest harmony. The most tuneless 
voice would be transformed into angelic strains by the magic 
spell of the Taj. In the centre of this rotunda is a stone screen, 
within which are the tombs of Shah Jehan and his Queen. 
These are not the true tombs, the latter lying in a vault below, 
but are monumental sarcophagi. They are of purest marble, 
covered with designs of flowers and leaves, inlaid in sapphire, 
agate, cornelian, amethyst, jasper, chalcedony, onyx, and lapis- 
lazuli. Nothing can be imagined more ingenious than the way 
in which the subtle shading of stalks and buds has been pro- 
duced by the blending of the various precious stones. Every 
inch of these tombs, and the screen which surrounds them, is 
covered with this microscopic mosaic work. A strange piece 
of folly has lately been perpetrated inside the Taj, an ostrich 
egg having actually been hung in space, so as to show the ex- 
act centre of the dome ! As was the case at all the objects of 
interest in India, we were pestered for "baksheesh." The re- 
quests in this instance came from two fellows who were pre- 
sumably the custodians of the tombs, and who could not be sa- 
tisfied under two rupees. We then went to the real tombs be- 
low, which were duplicates of the cenotaphs above, being over- 
laid with the same intricate ornamentation. One feels a little 
disappointment with the interior of the Taj. This superb sep- 
ulchre occupied seventeen years in its erection, and cost 
£lyOOO,ooo sterling. As we were leaving, we could not refrain 
from turning again and again to have one more lingering look, 
and we wafted towards it a farewell kiss of our hands, as if it 
had been a dear old friend. The memory of it so haunted us, 
that after dinner we walked out to see the Taj by moonlight 
When two or three hundred yards off, its snowy dome rose 
detached like a balloon above the bazaar smoke and evening 
mists. Entering the gateway we beheld the nob^e building, like 
the lovely ghost of its former self, looming in a calm, wan gran- 



Up-Country Stations. 361 

^eur. The moon was almost vertical, and as it illuminated the 
upper part of the dome, gave it a buoyant rotundity that had an 
indescribable charm. The Taj looked like a floating palace at 
the end of that long sombre avenue. As we walked down in 
the dense shade of the trees, the fairy vision seemed to be 
gliding away from us; but presently we stood on the noble 
terrace, our eyes bewildered by the flood of white light 
reflected from the broad marble pavement But for the 
delicious balminess of the evening, we could have fancied 
ourselves treading a plateau of snow. Above us rose the pale 
alabaster walls, and higher still the white marble globe, soaring 
into the bright starry heavens. It was a scene of ravishing 
beauty. We seated ourselves by the raised fountain in the 
avenue, and feasted 6ur eyes upon the Taj, drinking in its 
loveliness, and all the elevating thoughts it stirs within mind 
and heart The Taj, built by " infidel " hands, has touched all 
that is purest in art and noblest in religion. 

Our advent in these up-country stations occasioned a good 
deal of surprise to many, such a large party being a rarity. 
Making enquiries in Calcutta as to the prospects of a 
professional company in the far north-west, we had been told 
that most of the concert-parties who came to India " got stuck " 
in the large Presidency towns. However, we found many 
^* shows" in these small stations, most of them " single-handed." 
Amongst others was a conjuror, a ventriloquist, and a third 
who gave a light vocal entertainment In addition to these 
was a gentleman, accompanied by a young lady, who 
announced themselves in large letters as " The Royal English 
Variety Comedy Company!" Moreover, most of the canton- 
ments had some performer hanging about them for weeks, 
" working up " the different messes, co-operating with the local 
amateur theatricals, and getting each night the patronage of 
some officer more or less distinguished. The good folks of 
India are fully alive to the value of patronage. Our daring in 
going through the country without patronage excited no small 
wonder. Sever|il times we were congratulated as ^ lucky " in 
drawing such large houses without the benign auspices of this 



362 Singing Round the World, 

or that colonel. I remember calling with an advertisement on 
the editor of the ** Ragpore Gushette," and being greeted with 
"Well, have you been round to see the people?" "The 
people ! " I echoed. " Yes," said he, " all the big people of the 
station — Doctor Black, Major Boggs of Thunder Bungalow,. 
Captain Laws, our cantonment magistrate, and lots of others — 
you should hunt them all up, and ask them to come and hear 
you — they won't budge out unless you do, I tell you I** Our 
tickets were generally for sale at the store of a general 
merchant, and it was amusing to hear the conversation between 
the public and the " box-keeper." The young man behind the 
counter would say, " Well, Mr. Johnstone, are you going to the 
concert to-night?" "Oh, I don't know — is — Mr. White 
going?" "No-o-o, he's not taken ticCets ^^/." "Well, I'll 
just drive round and see if he's to be there, and then I'll let 
you know." " Shall I reserve some seats for you, Mr. Jones ?** 
" Yes ; but they must be in the third row, and I want to sit 
behind Miss Robinson, and she wanted me to ask if you could 
get a footstool for her ; and is it off the draught?" etc, etc., 
etc. 

Another amusing thing was the red-tapeism connected with 
the securing of halls. On one occasion I sent a letter I2CX> 
miles to a municipal secretary, who wrote back stating I ought 
to apply to the deputy-commissioner, — there being thus 3,600 
miles of correspondence entailed by the first gentleman not 
seeing fit to hand my letter to his brother-official, who was 
next door to him in the same building ! I have now before me 
a bundle of letters, in connection with one of these up-country 
stations. The gentleman acting for us in that place sent in an 
application for the hall, and received Document No. i : — 

" Scribblcbad Municipal Office— To J. Smith, Esq.— B. No. 
7,922 — Dated Jan. 2 — Memo : In reply to his No. 282 of this 
day's date, intimates that his application for the use of the 
Assembly Rooms will be laid before the President of the 
Municipal Committee, and his reply will be duly communicated^ 
— Augustus B. Fitzpatrick, Secretary Municipal Com- 
mittee." 



RedrTapeism. 363 

After waiting eight days and no reply forthcoming, our 
agent wrote again, and was rewarded with the following lucid 
despatch : — 

** Scribblebad Municipal Office — To J. Smith, Esq.— Dated 
Jan. 1 1 — B. No. 8,280 — Memo : In reply, has the honour to 
state that Mr. Kennedy may have the use of the Assembly 
Room for the night of the 28th inst Undersigned will speak 
to the President about giving them the use of the hall. — 
Augustus B. Fitzpatrick, Secretary, Municipal Com- 
mittee." 

It was not till eleven days afterwards, upon renewed writing 
on the part of Mr. Smith, that this satisfactory epistle 
arrived : — 

" Scribblebad Municipal Office— To J. Smith, Esq.— Dated 
22nd Jan. — B. No. 9,895 — Sir, In reply to your No. 298 of the ' 
1 2th inst., I have the honour to intimate that the President of 
the Municipal Committee has granted the use of the Assembly 
Room for the night of the 28th inst to Mr. Kennedy, — Yours 
faithfully, AUGUSTUS B. FiTZPATRiCK, Secretary, Municipal 
Committee." 

There was a still further despatch to the effect that " the 
rent did not include seating, lighting, or attendance of hall- 
keeper." Then when the affair seemed settled, poor Mr. Smith 
was plunged into another sea of correspondence in the matter 
of bill-posting, which he was told could not on any account be 
allowed. He sent in a petition to the proper quarter, and 
received a letter : — 

" On Her Majesty's Service — Government of India — To J. 
Smith, Esq. — Sir, I would suggest Mr. Kennedy advertising 
by hand-bills, as there are so few boards in the station for 
* posters.' — Believe me, yours faithfully, P. W. Seymour." 

Another letter from our agent produced this important con- 
cession. 

" Government of India — Scribblebad, Jan. 23, 1880— To J. 
Smith, Esq. — Sir, You are at liberty to put up posters on tliye 
boards for the purpose, but not pn the walls. — ^Yours fr'** 
P. W. Seymour." 



364 Singing^ Round the World. 

It turned out that this consent was only partial, as it had to 
be ratified by the police authorities. Again our friend wrote, 
and the answer came graciously as follows : — 

" Scribblebad, Jan, 24, 1880— Sir, There is no objection to 
notices being posted at the places set apart for that purpose. 
— ^Yours faithfully, G. Simpkins, Deputy-Superintendent of 
Police." 

Then the mind of Mr. Smith attained well-earned repose ! 

Another railway trip, this time of iii miles, landed us at 
Delhi, about a thousand miles north-west of Calcutta. At 
Delhi the train actually rushes through a cleft in the walls, 
with cannon-embrasures on either side, as if the train were 
•crossing a draw-bridge. It is a strongly fortified city, its red 
granite ramparts, battlemented and turreted, circling five miles 
and a-half. It has a most fanatical Mahometan populace — 
tall, muscular men, who scorn to salaam, and who swagger 
with an air unknown to the weaker race of lower Bengal. 
Every two or three hundred miles you go up-country," you 
observe the inhabitants becoming more independent and 
robust 

We visited the Fort, well worth the visit, and Jimi Musjid, 
another notable building of Delhi, and the most imposing 
mosque in India. 

The principal street of Delhi is the Chandi Chowk, or Street 
of Silver, a mile long and 120 feet broad, with trees running 
down the centre of it It is full of fine native shops, and here 
in the afternoons may be seen the native gentlemen on their 
horses, the gay trappings of which seem to be rivalling the 
gaudy robes of their riders. One day we saw an English 
missionary preaching in the same street, with a considerable 
crowd round him ; a hundred yards off, a *' moulvie," or 
Mahometan propagandist, expounding the Koran; and still 
further down the street, a Hindoo priest " holding forth " on 
the Shasters. In Chandi Chowk stands the Museum Hall, in 
which we gave our concerts — a splendid pile, with great seating 
accommodation, so as to fit it for " durbars," or native meetings. 
While we were there, the building was used through the day 



Lahore. 365 

as a native municipal court, presided over by a native magis- 
trate, while native petitioners and persons appearing in answer 
to summons, sat in motley groups on the spacious floor. As 
our audiences in India were drawn entirely from the white 
population, a place was estimated by us according to the size 
of the British station or cantonments. Delhi, though a house- 
hold name, has very few European residents. At the concerts 
we had several wealthy natives hearing us, and yawning 
audibly and sincerely at pieces not humorous. We remarked 
to one European gentleman that we had a pretty good house. 
"Good!" said he "you couldn't have a better — everybody s 
here!'' 

The train to Lahore was crowded with troops for Afghan- 
istan. We had as travelling companions an. officer and his 
wife, who had just returned from England. At the station 
where the train " dined " the military gentleman borrowed ten 
rupees from us, as he had got " stumped out" We met in 
India with a good deal of what might be called temporary 
impecuniosity. People never seem to carry money about with 
them, which was very awkward, for instance, at the hall-door. 
A major or a lieutenant would step up. "Ticket, please." 
" Got no ticket 1 " " Well, you can pay here, it's all the same." 
" Got no money ! " " Couldn't some friend here oblige you ? " 
" Oh, never mind, here's my card ; but you'll have a difficulty 
finding my bungalow, — its a mile and a-half from here ! " It 
never struck them they might send the money to us ! There 
were many cases of this kind in an evening, and more than 
once we have had to leave behind us uncollected £2 or £%^ 
our only equivalent for a sheaf of I O U'S and visiting-cards. 
In the majority of cases, however, these did not degenerate 
into bad debts. 

Lahore is 1300 miles from Calcutta. The railway station is 
a fine building in imitation of a castle, and was constructed so 
as to be used for purposes of defence. This is a very 
important railway centre. When there is a " mela," or holy 
fair, the traffic is immense. Double-storied carriages are put 
on, each holding a hundred natives. Sometimes a train carries 



366 Singing Round the World. 

2700 pilgrims, packed in carriages and trucks. The same fare 
is charged for both descriptions of vehicle, but the native does 
not care, so long as he can get on. There are twenty or 
thirty trains a-day, at festival times, representing a traffic of 
40,000 or 5O9OOO people. The natives were the most robust 
and independent we had seen. Amongst them were many of 
the redoubtable Sikhs, who strode past us with high-shouldered 
swagger and stare that would have been resented as imperti- 
nent but for its bold haughtiness. The European community are 
very social and hospitable. We had four bumper audiences, 
and on two occasions, the Lieutenant-Governor attended — 
unasked, though by no means the less welcome. On Sunday 
we went to what was called the Union Church, composed of 
Dissenters — Free, U.P., Methodists, and Congregationalists. 
The numbers of each sect being too limited to allow of 
separate churches, they very sensibly combine, as is the case in 
several of the up-country stations. The congregation was 
largely composed of half-castes, and the minister a Scotsman, 
with whom we afterwards spent a very pleasant evening. 

One afternoon we played lawn-tennis at a friend's house, 
afterwards strolling through the public gardens in the dusk, and 
returning to our host's to dinner. There we met, amongst 
other people, a young lady who was rather outspoken in her 
views of up-country society. She said she liked India so much 
better than England, because a girl got far more attention. 
**Here," said she, "there's six gentlemen to every lady!" 
We had been told that young ladies are very soon spoilt in 
India ; they get so much flattery that their heads are turned. 
A Calcutta gentleman once said to me in a half-mournful way : 
" You see that girl over there ? In Scotland she and I were 
great friends, but here, she won't condescend to look at me !" 
This aforementioned young lady of Lahore was rather 
displeased when I asked her how she endured the hot 
weather. She bridled up and said she *' didn't know, as she 
always spent the summer at the Hills." I had " put my foot 
in it," for no one with any pretensions to being a lady ever 



A Picnic at Shalimar. 367 

does such a vulgar thing as h've in the plains during the hot 
season ! 

A few days afterwards, in company with these friends, we 
went to a pic-nic at Shalimar, three miles distant, the princely 
garden of the great Mogul emperor, Shah Jehan, the same who 
built the Taj at Agra and the Jami Musjid at Delhi. It is half- 
a-mile long, and has three terraces rising one above the other. 
It boasts numerous fountains, besides numerous jets d'eau 
throughout the grounds. Coming from the hot dusty roads, it 
was cool and refreshing to rest the eye on the delightful vel- 
vety sward, bosky shrubbery, and shady avenues, the green 
bushes swarming with still brighter green parrots, and through 
the verdure gleaming the white marble of the fountains. We 
sat under the trees and gossipped for a quarter of an hour. A 
pariah-dog sniffed round us in a radius of al)out twenty feet, so 
timid that it fled even from a look. The children of our party, 
however, could approach without frightening the poor hungry 
beast. At a signal from our host, we retired to another part 
of the gardens, where lo ! the busy native servants had set up 
a table in the wilderness, with a clean white cloth, table-nap- 
kins, wines, bounteous dishes, and chairs in order. It was as 
comfortable as dining in-doors, with the added charm of the 
bright blue sky. We were soon so intent on the viands that 
the pariah-cur forgot its shyness, and scrambled amongst 
us for the fragments. 

The weather proved rather cold during our up-country tour. 
In the very early morning the air felt chilly and searching, but 
the sun was not long in waxing strong. The noontide is al- 
ways hot in India ; it is only the shade that seems to vary. 
Your hands and feet may be bitter cold, but at the same time 
you require to wear a sola-topee. 

In our up-country tour we had one servant with us — ^not 
Gollam Hossein, but a brother of his — a boy who was surely 
some relation of the fat boy in " Pickwick," for he was capable 
of any amount of sleep. There the analogy ended, however, he 
being thin as a skeleton. His face was pinched, his eyes lus- 
treless, his hands and feet as small and delicate as a girl's. He 



368 Singing Round the World. 

could not hold up against the cold of indoors, so in his plenti- 
ful leisure moments he would sun himself on the verandah^ 
or curl up in a corner in a shapeless heap beneath a 
load of blankets. After serving at breakfast, he would 
vanish for three hours, and re-appear with the statement: 
" I've had my food, mas'r." Then he would sit down and com- 
mence darning some hole in his coat or pants, an operation 
that speedily ended in his letting his head drop between his 
knees, sound asleep. He would awake dazed for lunch, and 
afterwards " moon " about for a little while, with a show of 
arranging papers in one's room, or putting the looking-glass at 
a proper angle, or heaving up his faculties to stick the comb 
into the hair-brush. Then he would mutter to himself, and 
leave with the air of doing something he had forgotten. A 
few minutes afterwards, in going out at the door, you would 
stumble over his prone carcass, snoring across the threshold. 
Once a week he could be seen with a scrap of paper on his 
knee, a pointed stick in his right hand, and an ink-bottle in his 
left, painfully scratching a letter in Hindostanee to his wife. 
He was a most faithful husband, and was always talking about 
his wife. In Bombay he went the length of buying her a 
showy new dress, which he requested "Mem Sahib" to take 
care of till his return to Calcutta. Upon our arrival there, we 
were astonished to hear from Gollam Hossein that "his brother" 
was 7tot married. This may have been a fib on Gollam's part, 
for Truth is not a bosom friend of the natives. We even began 
to doubt if Gollam was the other fellow's brother, there being 
not the slightest family resemblance. We had had occasion to 
suspect Gollam before this. One day he came with a story 
that his sister was dead, and that he wanted leave of absence 
for the day. A short time afterwards he again desired a 
holiday, as his sister was about to be married. " But didn't 
she die last week ? " " Oh no, masV it was my mother!" The 
mortality amongst your boy's relatives is alarming. It is a 
good servant whose father does not die more than three times 
a-year. 

On the whole, the " boy " was not of very great service. 




A "Mean White." 369 

True, he did not cost much, as he always travelled third class, 
one farthing a-mile. Second class is three farthings, and first 
class 2id. a-mile. This is cheap railway-travelling, but the 
mileage rate would require to be low, as the distances from 
place to place are so great. For instance, we travelled from' 
Bombay to Jubbulpore — 616 miles, nearly as far as from 
Land's End to John o' Groat's — -sang there one night, and next 
day started for Lucknow, distant 405 miles. Thus, to sing in 
two places we journeyed 102 1 miles. Two or three times we 
had distances of 306 miles, and 130 miles was a frequent and, 
as it seemed, an easy stage. Altogether, we travelled 440$. 
miles of Indian railway. 

Our longest journey was from Lahore down to Allahabad, 713. 
miles, occupying 37 hours. We left the capital of the Punjaub in 
the evening, and early next forenoon passed Meerut, ever-famous- 
as the scene of the outbreak of the great Mutiny — a wide-spread 
cantonment, with the stern miUtaiy lines marshalling out from 
behind the trees as the train rolls past All that day we 
travelled through the heat and dust Night closing in, we- 
stretched ourselves out, each occupying a whole seat, with 
pillow and blankets, and enjoyed a thorough sleep. The train 
arrived at Cawnpore at one A.M., when I was awakened by the- 
landlord of the hotel there, who had kindly brought us a con- 
siderable sum which he had received from the barracks in pay- 
ment of soldiers' tickets at our concert. At half-past six in 
the morning we reached Allahabad, where we gave a farewell 
concert The weather here had been rather warm for the cool 
season, the temperature a few days previously being 138- 
degrees in the sun and 80 degrees in the shade. But now 
there had come a great storm of thunder and lightning, with 
tempestuous showers, the first rain we had seen in India, 
for four months. During the forenoon I happened to be in one 
of the leading stores of the station, when a "mean white" made 
his appearance at the counter. His ragged clothes displayed 
the fact of his having no shirt He was damp, tremulous, and 
smelling of whisky ; but his voice and manner were those of a 
gentleman. " For God's sake, give me assistance," he gasped^ 



370 Singing Round the World. 

feebly holding on to one of the show-cases. "Go to the 
Charitable Institution," cried the ashamed and displeased 
assistant ** Oh," pleaded the unfortunate, ** Oh, but I'm ill— 
oh, for the love of heaven, g^ive me a stimulating draught" 
^ Go to the hospital, it's just a short way off." "^But I couldn't 
walk that, distance" (sinking into a chair) — ^''give me some 
medicine ; I've got rheumatics — been sleeping out in the wet" 

" Been getting drunk, that's what is the matter with you ! " 
However, the fellow was taken to the dispensary counter, where 
a bitter was administered. He quaffed it, and tottered off to a 
house some hundred yards down the road, where I heard him 
beg piteously, not for drink, medicine, or work, but " for the 
love of heaven, rupees I" Imperial India has its, tramp. 

Next day we travelled to Dinapore, where we again gave a 
concert As before, we took up quarters in the railway 
refreshment-room. A fearful storm broke out towards evening, 
the rain falling in dense sheets, and the lightning being ex- 
tremely vivid. Our three-mile drive to the cantonment theatre 
in the evening was not without mishap, as might well have 
been expected in that inky blackness. We had not driven for 
five minutes, when the wretched horse, half swerving, half 
blown by the gale, dragged the equally frail gharry into a 
ditch. Luckily this happened near a stable, where we got a 
fresh horse. An hour and a-half were consumed in travelling 
these three miles ; but we were rewarded by the spectacle of 
an unexpectedly large and sympathetic audience of redcoats. 

The following afternoon we left for Calcutta, arriving there 
about six next morning. This second visit was fully as enjoy- 
able as the first, many pleasant friendships being now 
established. We gave a fortnight of farewell concerts, meeting 
with warm sympathy from large audiences. The weather was 
much hotter than during our first season. We sailed from 
Calcutta for England on the 2d March, our friends, one and all 
envying us the chance of escaping the great heat We had 
made use of every moment of the "cool" season, and felt some- 
what like cowards flying from India with Old Sol singeing our 
heels. Partings were said to Calcutta friends. Our two 




Farewell to our "Boys." 



371 



" boys " came to the wharf to see us off! We were about to 
^hake hands with them, when we recollected that was not 
Oriental, so we waved good-bye in answer to their graceful and 
repeated salaams. Poor Gollam Hossein and his brother 
seemed much affected at the parting, their last words being : — 
■" God know, we be glad to see you back here again." 



3/2 Singing Round the World. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

Madras — Ceylon — The Cinghalese — Aden — Sues and Fort Said — A Maltese 
Monastery — Gibraltar to Southampton. 

In four days the " Mirzapore " was lying off Madras. It had 
been a great desire of ours to sing there, but no hall was 
available. As seen from the steamer, Madras did not present 
a ver>- favourable appearance, — an open roadstead, with a long 
glaring sandy beach, and behind it one or two large edifices 
standing uncomfortably in the scorching sun. Round the 
" Mirzapore ** were gathered numbers of coal-lighters, manned 
by coolies so coolly clad as to excite the envy of the broiling 
passengers. The clothes of those natives consisted of a small 
piece of rag in front and another piece behind, hung round the 
waist by a string so thin that on a side-view the men looked 
wholly nude. Well might a horrified Scotsman exclaim : 
"Michty ! a yaird o' calico wad clothe the nation !" I thought 
that in the course of a rather exhaustive experience of 
Australian, Maori, and Pacific Island craft, one might know 
something of adventurous sailing ; but it all went for nothing 
when I saw the Madrassie sitting in a small scooped-out log, 
and navigating the heavy swell with a single rude paddle. 
Seven or eight of these men hovered about the steamer, which 
lay fully half-a-mile from the shore. Further out still were 
bobbing a number more, all that was seen being the man him- 
self, a black speck now and again half hidden by the roll. One 
close to the steamer was so daring as to stand up in his frail 
canoe, posing like a " bare-back " circus performer as he rode 
the billows. His ** clothes" were drenched, and it would take 
him full five minutes to dry them over a spirit-lamp when he 
got home. A passenger came on here — a young man suffering 
from lightness of the head caused by sunstroke, which 
frequently led him to mistake the saloon-bar for the doctor's 




C^lon. 373 

-cabin. Poor fellow! he was nicknamed "the Viceroy," by 
reason of his pompous talk ; " Captain Bags," because of his 
ample trousers ; and "Old Blasphemy," from the oaths he used 
to let drop between the puffs of his after-dinner cigar. 
Numerous babies toddled and sprawled about the deck, each 
with its attendant " ayah." A chattering pack these ayahs 
were, with flowing red robes, wide rings in their noses, and 
heavy anklets clanking at their heels. 

Four days' sail from Madras over sunny seas brought us 
within sight of Ceylon, its coast-line fringed with the graceful 
cocoa-nut palm, and verdant hills and richly timbered moun* 
tains, towering far in the interior. We were soon in the 
beautiful bay of Point de Galle. Its tropical vegetation, 
circling wooded heights, and far-stretching purple ranges made 
up an enchanting picture. The " Mirzapore " had scarce 
dropped anchor, when there buzzed round her a swarm of 
"catamarans," the safest canoe ever built It has a weighty 
log floating parallel with the boat at the end of two heavy 
outriggers, which prevent anything like a capsize. We were 
taken on shore in a lai^e Custom " gig," by a friend who had 
invited us to dine with him. His house being a mile or two 
inland, our journey was continued in a " bandy," a kind of 
covered-in dc^-cart on four wheels. 

The drive through Point de Galle was most interesting. 
Though almost a hundred years have passed since the Dutch 
rule ceased in Ceylon, many traces of their occupation still 
remain. There are the Fort, some Dutch houses, and an old 
Dutch church, besides a marked Dutch flavour about the 
people. There are a good many Dutch, and these are as a rule 
well-to-do bui^hers. The buildings are large and one-storied, 
with a verandah extending along the whole front To a 
cursory observer the Cinghalese are all of one sex — female! 
The men wear their hair long, and coiled in a knot at the back 
— the feminine resemblance being increased by their wearing 
ear-rings, and by the large tortoiseshell crop-comb pushed 
back from the brow. Then they wear petticoats — not a mere 
kilt, or a robe, or a shawl, but absolute petticoats. If an 



374 Simgimg Rammd tie WarU, 

inhabitant is walking in front of jou, it is impossible to tdl 
whether it is a man or his wife: Yon see a little girl trippii^ 
before yoo, and yoo revel in the delightful pictnie till she tarns 
oot to be a boy, and ^ slai^ " yoo ToInUy as 3^00 drive pasL 
An el^;ant maiden, with erect carriage and weU-formed feet 
and ankles, is going along the road hraring a pitcher on her 
head Towards her comes a youth with a cigar in his mouth. 
A bright look steab over his lace as he beholds her. Ah, love^ 
love! it is a gentle thing! Their heads meet, no doubt in 
tender greeting, and you drive up to find that the sweet maiden 
is a man too, giving the other fellow a light from his cheroot. 
Our journey through Point de Galle was in this way one con- 
tinuous fraud, and we got tired, after a while, conferring 
softened glances upon men with peaked beards, and gradoos 
smiles on old ladies who would persist in becomii^ grand- 
fathers. 

The way to our friend's house lay for some distance along 
the mail-road from Galle to Colombo. This is a superb avenue 
of seventy miles of cocoa-nut trees — ^^I'inding by the sea-shore, 
and its sylvan beauty reminding us more of a palm-section in 
a botanical garden than a practical, every-day country road. 
We reached the bungalow of our host, who ^I'as an Irishman, 
and were introduced to his wife, a young lady from Melbourne. 
Previous to dinner, we lay in the depths of canvas chairs in the 
broad cool verandah, with bosky masses of shrubbery and trees, 
fresh, cool, and green, shutting in the foreground. Cattle 
roamed about, a cow breaking its way through a hedge of the 
compound, and drawing down upon itself the railing of one 
of the Tamil **boys" about the place. A she-man, with a 
super-excellent comb and irreproachable coiffure, announced 
dinner, and presently we were engaged in a sumptuous repast, 
under the auspices of a broad-sweeping punkah, and attended 
by several petticoated men-waiters. 

Next morning the sky was laden with thunderous clouds, 
and squalls of blinding rain fell at frequent intervals. Under 
the poop awning of the steamer, had gathered crowds of those 
vendors and touters who persecute the passenger at ^voty 




A Mixed Company. 375 

port Here were sellers of tortoiseshell combs, tiny ivory- 
elephants, gold rings and workboxes. Dealers, too, in 
"precious" stones, suavest and most successful of rascals — fit 
deceivers of the silly dupes who believe they can buy a cut 
diamond for fifteen shillings, an emerald for twelve, or a topaz 
for ten. One deluded passenger showed me a " gold Albert," 
for which he had just paid £^. The burning desire in 
human nature to expend money on worthless bargains, reaches- 
its highest development on board a P. & O. steamer at a port- 
of-call. Ivory made of cow-bone ; gold rings from Birming- 
ham ; pasteboard sun-hats ; brass-plated pewter ; tipless ostrich 
feathers ; glass brilliants ; tortoiseshell made of shellac and 
glue ; cashmere shawls from Coventry — all equally tempt the 
omnivorous spendthrift tourist. 

The branch steamers from Japan and Australia steamed 
into the bay, and after taking on board a crowd of passengers^ 
the "Mirzapore" steamed away into the Indian Ocean, on the 
long stretch of 2134 miles to Aden. Amongst those aboard 
there was a missionary from Yokohama, with his two little 
boys, who spoke Japanese fluently ; a planter from Java ; a 
German professor, returning from the Australian Exhibition ;. 
four or five gentlemen, members of a Cable Company, home- 
ward bound after laying a line from Australia to Singapore ;. 
a prison chaplain from Melbourne ; a gentleman from Sydney 
interested in the cause of frozen meat ; and an English lord, 
who affected seedy garb and lounged all day in lonely dignity, 
A number of the passengers were musical, and we had singing 
and pianoforte-playing nightly, the lamp-lighted, canvas-roofed 
poop making a pleasant concert-room in the balmy evenings. 
In nine days from Ceylon we reached Aden, an English 
military station in the heart of an extinct crater, and one of 
the hottest spots on the face of the earth. Reliable persons- 
say there is only a sheet of brown paper between Aden and 
Hades. The natives, Soumalis as they are called, look half- 
singed, their yellow hair standing out like a frizzled mop. 
They are a tall, wild-looking race, with a mixture of greed and 
cruelty in their eye. Water is scarce in Aden, as it rains about 



37^ Sv^img Rmad ihe JTcrUL 



Cray tbxec jnears. There is hanfiy agreen Ha>r;> :t ^ 
ts> be 9cc:l Aboizt the only objects of intercsi ar* 
* Tanks.'' tea or trdve in immber, stoatcd is a gpcst :vv=r- 
looking the tovn. These are built of solid stooe. Ifk* f zr=mi£- 
taoc^ and can h>jd two or tibree years' soppuy of 
is czrraed down zo Aden by dcmkej-s and rar^eSs. 3 
tibe xarfr* rccth, in small boats, gathered round r:e fezizzcr. 
saoctf:^ altenzateiy in high and low yoke, and 
icisstx:^ like a steas-pomp : * H AB-A-DHt — <x/~j 
HAB-A-DI\T:— ixr-«w&r^,— HAB-A-DIXT;— iiT-j 
Flash! wect a sfxperxs in the vater, and in cos ^:=L-r2r3aI 
spiasa disappeared a score of the Ifrtle code "yeCir^-hzfrsf 
"^ their tmzipet-shaped xnooths coming cp 



scriace wr± due ererlastin^ crv, *^ H AB-A-DrVE— <^--^xr7<t' 
as if the%' had been savi:^ it al! the time thev 
davs later we were at Suez, in 



^ o« * * • • * _ 

down the Red Sea. The whirrcs were alive w:±. s:- iirsri- 
dresstd in htaLvy hooded greaiccats as protectfcr. £r:ci ibi 
bfttcr momir.g air. A large sectfs- cf groucc was Gocwji^it: zy 
their tents, in front of which the den were p::t:iri<.:.iiljr 
grouped- Close to the troop-ship were squatted a Icc^ ri-v if 
heav:Iy-:roned convicts of varfo-is races — Kurds. Arabs. H^.7- 
tians, Algerians, and Turks — waiting to do coclie --:rk :c 
board. Here we took en more passengers— one of them in jli 
man of eight>--three years of age — a Scotsman, who had f:c^t 
at Waterloo, and was now making a tour of the world. V."hit 
a number of old soldiers we met in cur travels 1 I had a nl::^t 
interesting talk widi the veteran, and his communicativene?^ 
helped to relieve the monotony of the Suez Canal He I^'t 
the steamer at Port Said, as he ii-as bound for the Holy Lane, 
and, deaf to the courteous quarter-master, shouldered his ccrt- 
manteau himself, exclaiming, *" I'm a young man ycL"" Pc-t 
Said, the northern terminus of the Canal, was a most unsa- 
vour}pIace — a combination cf French, Arab,andElgp>tian. The 
streets were lined nith tobacconists' di\'ans, rapacious curio- 



Malta. 377 

dealers, cheap and nasty photograph sellers, and other ill-fla- 
voured shops ; while along the pavements crawled loafers of all 
Eastern races, sailors of every clime, and Arab boys touting 
in English, French, and Hindostanee for dens of infamy. 
Port Said is a mushroom growth of yesterday, and presents 
all the worst features of a " new diggings."* 

We stayed but an hour or so here. The island of Malta, a 
thousand miles distant, was reached in four da3rs. Valetta, 
the capital, has a noble harbour, lined with fine buildings, 
towers, and fortifications. Many traces of the old Knights of 
St John are to be found here, as one toils up the hilly streets 
of the city. We had time to visit the famed Church of St 
John, and a Capuchin monastery with large catacombs, which 
we were determined to see. In the Capuchin Chapel we were 
accosted by a monk — an old fellow with rough bristly chin, 
coarse flabby features, a shaven pate, and a large paunch. He 
was attired in a dirty brown vestment, and round his middle 
(one could not call it " waist ") was tied a piece of new clothes- 
rope, the only clean thing about him. He had a dirt>% 
blinking, crafty look in his eye, and as he waddled his barrel- 
body, one could not believe he had a soul above beer. Had he 
been seen driving a brewer's dray he would have occasioned 
no remark. This " holy friar," with a stump of candle in one 
hand and a bunch of keys in the other,, led us to what 
resembled a spirit-vault He opened the door, which disclosed 
a flight of stone steps ; then he locked it behind us, and we 
groped our way by the guttering taper. He paused, and held 
the light towards a niche in the wall There stood an upright 
corpse ! Further on, another — another — and another ! — dozens 
of them, all standing sentry in these recesses, and each 
supported under the elbows by a cross piece of wood. They 
had all originally been placed in attitudes of devotion, but the 
grinning heads now hung limp behind the clasped hands, and 
some who had been posed in an ecstacy of strong faith had 
toppled sidelong into the comic plight of a *' drunk and 
incapable." The cowl and gown of the defunct still remained, 
but had collapsed upon the shrunken body. The bones stood 



2fS Singing Round the World. 

out boldly through the cloak, the dust of years lying in thick 
ridges on the ribs, like snow-drift on a railing. Our 
unceremonious guide held the candle close under the chins of 
the dead, frizzling up the cobwebs that now did duty as 
whiskers, and making the spiders start out of the eyes. The 
mouth resembled a burst cricket-ball — gaping, dusty, and full 
of leather-like stuffing. The close light of the candle caused 
the faces to stand out weirdly in the surrounding darkness, — 
all of them with musty smiles of their parchment features, as if 
produced by some grim joke of the charnel-house passed along 
the ranks. One reverend brother had been standing sniggering 
there since 1620. Fancy a chuckle 260 years old ! These were 
the bodies of the saints who had died in the monastery — ^their 
names being put on tickets hung alongside the bodies, as if the 
latter had been museum-specimens. Whenever one of these 
.Capuchin monks depart this life, it is the rule for the oldest 
mummy to courteously make way for the new-comer, the 
former being henceforth put on a shelf. " Ah 1" said our guide, 
heaving a corpulent sigh, "one day I shall stand there too !" 
We thought he would have to wait a long time till he thinned 
down sufficiently to be inserted in one of these niches. After 
thoroughly seeing this human wax-work exhibition, we 
ascended the stairs, preceded by our pious Falstaffi He hung 
about with greedy eyes till we had given him a gratuity ; then 
rolled up the chapel -aisle, and presently was chanting an "Ave 
Maria" with his fellow-monks. 

After some days* enjoyable sailing on the calm Mediter- 
ranean, the "Mirzapore"' was lying beneath the frowning 
heights and defences of Gibraltar, the first of the three great 
fortified stations — Gibraltar, Malta, and Aden — that guard our 
highway to the East Leaving the historical ** Rock," we 
steamed through the Straits that form the entrance to the 
Mediterranean — ^the "Pillars of Hercules,** or Atlas group, 
12,000 feet high, on the African side, and on the other shore 
the lofty Sierras of Spain. In five days from "Gib" we reached 
Southampton, happily concluding a five-weeks' voyage from 
Calcutta. 



Scotch Concert in Italy. 



279 



My father, mother, and sisters had left the " Mirzapore ^ at 
Suez, crossed the Desert, and taken steamer for Italy. Pro- 
ceeding to Milan, they were met by my sister Marjory and 
my brothers Robert and James, who were then engaged in the 
study of Italian vocal method. Before returning home, a 
concert was organized, at which my father sang Scottish songs 
to the evident delight of the Italians, who, though they might 
not fully understand the words, could fully appreciate those 
" touches of nature *' which " make the whole world kin." 



3 bios D52 am lOM